


Merry Fucking Hanukkah

by DevilOfWire



Series: Merry Fucking Hanukkah & PWP Sequels [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Background Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Background Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Kyle Broflovski, Breast Worship, Clothed Sex, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Cover Art, Crossdressing, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fanart, Feminization, First Times, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, High Heels, High Sex, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Lapdance, Large Cock, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW Art, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Panties, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Smut, Songfic, Stockings, Top Stan Marsh, Underage Drinking, Virginity Kink, Wet & Messy, purely on accident lol, well kinda on accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 103,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: After Wendy breaks up with him in thefuckingairportof all places, Stan is left stranded alone in South Park.Meanwhile, Kyle doesn’t expect much out of winter break. Maybe just some fun with his old childhood friends, but when he hears Stan’s free from Wendy, well…Perhaps this will be aslightly moreinterestingfour weeks after all.But, alas, for Stanis averystubborn drunk…
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Merry Fucking Hanukkah & PWP Sequels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987603
Comments: 51
Kudos: 229





	1. Get Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know, I know, _we **all** hate Stan…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> **Warning!** This will contain _a lot_ of crass language, including homophobic/anti-Semitic (Cartman, of course)/bigoted slurs by different parties, including our protagonists. It is South Park and it’s just in good fun, but if you’re sensitive to that kinda language, do skip this one! 
> 
> There are some implications of alcoholism, drug abuse, and child neglect, but it’s not very graphic, and sometimes just for humour. That sounds kinda fucked, but it’s not _that_ bad lol. 
> 
> Btw, much of the tags are for later chapters, so sex won’t be until chapter 3, but will then be in every chapter thereafter… _I have a problem…_ Feminization and Dom/sub elements are pretty much always a big part of it, though. 
> 
> And yes, this fic is mostly complete already! I just need to write the last few chapters and edit things, but other than that, it’s all good to be posted so there shouldn’t be too much worry of abandonment! 
> 
> Okay, I’ll shut up now, enjoy!
> 
> **UPDATE 1-26-20:** Now finally with cover art! >< Lol

__

(Full Size Image - [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire/status/1221391446781104130), [Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/post/190474355906/heres-the-cover-for-my-semi-slowburn-south-park))

_December 15th, 2019 - Sunday_

“I want to break up with you, Stan.”

He just blinks.

“Stan. I’m breaking up with you, okay? I’m going to stay here in San Francisco, cancel my flight, and you can go without me to South Park. My parents are moving with me. Don’t worry.”

He just blinks again.

The world around him seems muffled, numb, the people nearby that were so ordinary before now blurs of greys and browns, the lights a blinding white, sounds reverberating in his skull.

His heart pounds in his ribs, and he can barely stand to watch her lips move, _feeling like a_ **_dream._ **

**_A horrible one._ **

“I’m going to go back to my dorm and take my stuff. Then I’m going to transfer to a different college and move somewhere else, I’m not going to tell you where. And I don’t care where _you_ go after this—back to San Fran, out of the country, anywhere in the fucking world—but I just _don’t_ want to see you again.”

His mouth is dry as he barely manages to croak, **_“Ever_ ** _again?”_

“I… I don’t know. But at least not for a few months.”

He watches her rise from the black leather chair, her slender hands painted blue sliding over her knees to cross at her chest, looking down at Stan with a solid stare.

“Don’t try to call me, Stan. We’re done. I’m not joking.”

Only when she begins to stalk away does Stan finally close his mouth, snapping up her thin wrist up with a sudden hand.

**“Wait!”** he cries, **_“Wendy!”_ **

Stan sees people beginning to stare out of the corner of his eye _but_ ** _can’t_** **_stop_** _himself now._

She glares but her shoulders slump just the tiniest bit, face softening to give him one final word.

**_“Why?”_ **

Wendy is silent for a second, then rips her hand out of his hold

Rubs it like it’s fucking _diseased._

**“Why?”** she bites, sounding sarcastic and all too serious at once. **_“Why,_ ** Stan? _Isn’t it_ **_obvious?”_ **

He glances to the tiled floor, then back up to her towering above him. “N-no?”

She scoffs. _“You don’t love me, Stan._ And I can’t love **_you_ ** if you don’t love **_me.”_ ** She puts her fists clenched to her hips. “It’s as _simple_ as that.”

“Wh-what do you **_mean,_** _Wendy?_ **_Of course_** _I love you!”_

At his increasing volume turning to a shout, people are staring now.

Wendy’s eyes dart about, sighing in exasperation at Stan who’s too shocked to care.

“I **know** you don’t. _You might_ ** _think_** _you do, Stan,_ but you just **don’t.** You might look at me, kiss me, hug me, _whatever,_ but there’s **nothing** **_under_** there. _You’re just…”_ she looks up, searching for the right words before snapping her icy gaze down, spitting it out.

**_“Acting.”_ **

It’s like a slap in the face for poor Stan who sits there, silent, on the airport chair, surrounded by people seeming even stranger than before.

**His girlfriend of eight years** — _well, she_ **_was_ ** _anyway_ —walks backward on her black boots before turning around.

She glances between the aisle in front of her and then back to Stan, her expression a mix of fury and sadness, intense solidarity and regret.

He watches his _entire life_ stride away from him through the empty spaces, a purple blur, between people who he’s never met, who will never care that he’s just idly staring as he’s _destroyed,_ as the **one thing** that brought him joy disappears out of sight behind the corner of a wall, _not even looking over her shoulder of black hair anymore._

She’s moved on, out of sight, out of his life. Probably has months ago, honestly.

**_And he didn’t even fucking_ ** **notice.**

_“Boarding first class,”_ the woman at the desk says muffled over the intercom.

People begin to move, forming a long line in front of the door to the hall over the plane.

Stan stares at the blue of his shoes, the white of the laces, forces his gaze to drag up over his jeans to his hands on his lap.

They’re shaking.

_With what, though?_

_Shock?_

_Misery?_

_Terror?_

_Rage?_

He doesn’t even _know_ anymore.

Everything feels foreign as he rises to his feet, grabbing the duffel bag underneath the chair. Wendy’s is missing. She took it with her, of course. Wasn’t even planning on stowing it in the luggage compartment of the plane. She just folded all her clothes so it would be faster to move out of the dorm, to a new city, maybe a new state.

He begins to walk _but_ _feels like he isn’t really there at all._ His eyes snap to movement but he doesn’t really _see,_ can’t bring himself to even begin to _care_ with the swirling cacophony of thoughts going on in his head.

He moves his body forward aimlessly, automatically, clutches the bag tight.

**But it’s all just a surface reaction.**

_Just acting._

*****

_“God, where_ **_is_ ** _he?”_

_“Fuck, Kahl, stop being such a fag–_ **Ow!** Fucking **_fine,_** Kenny, you **_ass–_** Stop being such a **_baby,_** Kyle! Plane’s just a little late, _happens all_ _the fucking time…”_

Kyle still goes up on the steel toes of his boots melting snow in their deep treads, trying to look over the crowd of people surrounding the baggage claim area, searching for black hair, round face.

_He realizes then,_ eyes glancing excitedly about, _that he doesn’t_ **_really_ ** _know exactly what he’s looking for anymore._

And his smile falters.

It had been a year since they’d seen each other last winter break—electing all the other breaks to stay in their states across the country, working off jobs and studying and doing some “soul-searching”, otherwise known as just fucking around the entirety of their free time—and half a year since they’d heard each other’s voices, a month since they’d texted at all.

And Kyle _doesn’t really know_ **_why._ **

_Not at all._

Their conversations had been fleeting, at first excitable about their new years of university and college, about the different people, the classes, but it had all slowly… _died off._

Hours turned to merely one turned to minutes a day, then trickled down to **_nothing_ ** _entirely._

Stan had stopped even posting pictures of himself on any social media.

Not that Kyle checked that _every day._

No, he would just _occasionally_ look at it, enough to remember that the last picture had been two months ago.

Smiling with his arm slung around Wendy in a coffee shop, no hat or jacket to be found, shorter haircut no longer covering his eyes.

_But his face was still mostly the same._

So that’s what Kyle tells himself to look for, standing up and rocking back and forth on his heels as all the rest of his three friends sit.

Cartman’s arms fold over his large gut, looking really no different from the well-fed polar bear of a year ago when they’d parted ways last January.

Well, at least Stan and Kyle actually went somewhere, just back to **_completely different_ ** _parts of fucking America._ Stan to San Francisco on Wendy’s desire to live in California, Kyle to Connecticut to attend God damned Yale. He’d been so excited that he’d got accepted last year. It was _so much_ hard work, and it had all been worth it, **_finally._ **

Meanwhile, Cartman stayed and still lived with his mom doing absolutely nothing but playing games and eating Cheetos, so fucking joke's on him.

But, to be fair, a lot of other people had stayed, too, for familiarity or lack of options.

Kenny had moved to a fla– _apartment, because this is America_ —just a little less shitty than his family’s house working some job, and Butters was still kept **firmly** under lock and key by his parents, allowed to only occasionally slip out to the community college.

**_So much_ ** _had changed in a year, but even more, it had seemed to stay the same._

_And now, their little group was getting back together again._

_There was just_ **_one_ ** _last piece missing._

A sudden surge of people to the right, from the airline wings, calls the boys’ attention.

They all look at the rush, adorned in summery clothing, looking tired and aggravated them all for the two and a half hour flight and hour-long delay. The flight had started at 7, ran late till 10, now it was fucking 11. Stan probably had to wake up at 5. Or, rather, Wendy had to wake him up then, Kyle thinks with a chuckle.

Kyle had arrived the night before, a gruelling four and a half hour flight from New Haven all the way to Denver where they were now camped out.

He’d stayed in the cheapest apartment he could find, feeling like a real adult for the first time in his life as he politely dealt with the lady at the desk who gave him his golden key in the yellow of the fluorescent lights, hands no longer held by college attendants nor his doting parents.

The people slide by, coating the conveyor belts every square inch and watching the duffel bags and plastic cases fall from the chutes. Yet more people rush in through the giant hall, filling it to capacity, flowing around the tight group of friends sat on one of the many uncomfortable benches facing the claim.

Brown hair, blonde hair, gaunt faces, old people, women with very obvious breasts.

An entire crowd of strangers, and none of them _him._

_“Where the_ **_hell_ ** _is he?”_ Kyle mutters under his breath.

Kenny sighs, sauntering up to a stand a good head taller than him and slapping a hand over his shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. He’ll get here eventually.”

Kyle pouts. The crowd’s beginning to lessen, no longer a steady stream of flesh but a trickle of odd faces every once in a while. “Maybe we already missed him?”

Kenny shakes his head and tuts but digs a hand into his worn jeans, pulling out his phone at least seven years old now.

“Okay, okay, I’ll call him for you,” Kenny mutters, swiping on the cracked screen a few times before bringing it to his ear, his hair still dirty blonde and even wilder than before, only able to afford to cut it himself. And last time he did that, it was an utter disaster for _months._ Even fucking _Butters_ laughed at him, for fuck’s sake.

The phone starts ringing quietly in Kenny’s ear and half a second later, there’s a loud sound that comes from just beyond the baggage hall, to the right where the stragglers are still bleeding in.

It’s a song, starting with some techno and then devolving to a **_shout._ **

Echoing loudly off the marble flooring and the glass walls:

_**"To the** _ **_windoooooowwwwww–"_ **

_Ah,_ Kyle thinks, _“Get Low” by Lil Jon._

**A modern classic.**

And then, as it sings loud enough to make people begin to turn in confusion, **_"To the waAall–",_** Kyle’s eyes snap open.

A white smile lights his _entire_ face and his legs begin to move seemingly without him _toward_ the music, instead of away like all the other fearful passengers are.

_Because it's Stan’s ringtone for Kenny._

**_Stan's._ **

He doesn’t know _why the fuck the sound’s on,_ nor why it’s so _fucking mind-numbingly_ ** _loud_** _,_ he just knows he **_needs_** to see _him,_ ** _right now._**

_And there he is, as_ the sound grows louder until it’s practically ear-rape, his circular face is downturned to stare, dark brows furrowed, at the phone of his screen, fingers unmoving as Kyle practically sprints toward him.

_His hair_ **_is_ ** _a little shorter._

Kyle forgets the laws of physics and inertia until it’s much too late, feet carrying him all the way to his friend still staring dazedly at his phone that’s making everyone balk.

Just as the absolute lyrical genius of **_"To the sweat drop down my_** _ **balls!"**_ begins to play, the sound becomes muffled and distorted as the object it’s confined to is knocked to the floor out of an unsteady hand, a sudden weight of a hundred and fifty pounds slamming right into his chest, making him _oof_ audibly.

**_“Stan!”_** Kyle yells over the electronic garble that continues across the floor, the people scurrying away from the dreaded cellular device like it’s _a God damned bomb._

**_"To all you bitches crawl–"_ **

_“K-Kyle?!”_ Stan says, eyes wide, and he can only tell it’s him, really _him,_ _his super best friend forever_ by the long red curls which press into his face as Kyle does similarly with his entire body, trapping him in a tight hug and a smile clicking in his ear.

**_“To all skee skee motherfucker!”_** Kenny shouts with Lil Jon before breaking into a fit of giggles, Butters beside him stuttering an offended, _“H-Hey!”_ at the horrid curse but unable to stop a chuckle.

Cartman is _doubled_ over in laughter, the entire thing **fucking hilarious** to him:

From the God-awful song to Kyle’s faggotry to Stan wobbling around under his own weight.

_He’s_ **_obviously_ ** _fucking–_

_Drunk?_

Kyle’s eyes snap open again, removing himself from Stan’s shoulder to look him in the eye.

He smells it even in his hair, around his face still startled, not even beginning to crack a familiar grin.

And **God,** Kyle **fucking** **_hates it._ **

So his smile instantly falls to a grimace, glaring at Stan hard enough that it melts through his drunken daze, making him recoil in fear so Kyle’s warm hands slip from around his back.

Kyle puts his hands to his hips instead, adopting a bossy stance Stan doesn’t realize he’s missed until right then.

_Then again, maybe he shouldn’t miss it, because Kyle was_ **_very obviously_ ** _mad at_ **_him_ ** _right now,_ not _Cartman._

“Are you **_fucking drunk,_** **_Stanley fucking Marsh?”_**

“Uuuuuuuuh,” Stan breathes, even that action seeming slurred, _“nnoooooooo..!”_

Kyle stamps a foot on the ground and huffs, the music abruptly stopping as Kenny finally decides it’s about time to hang up.

_**"**_ ** _Can she fuck, that question been harassing me–"_** and then Lil Jon dies tragically.

Strangers around them break the silence they’d fallen into with a few nervous giggles and mutters, still avoiding the couple of guys now staring dead at each other in the middle of the room, phone left on the floor and being eyed by a hesitant security guard.

Kyle grinds his teeth, crossing his arms and clenching his fists so he doesn’t **fucking** punch Stan’s **_fucking_** **lights** **out** right about now.

“You **_fucking_** **_lied_** to me, _didn’t you?”_

“Wh-wha?”

Their friends begin to sprint over to them, but Kyle is fucking **_livid._ **

**_“You’re a fucking liar!”_ ** he shouts, drawing the attention of people quickly growing tired of their shit even as he jabs a smooth nail right into Stan’s solar plexus.

Kenny bounds over, calling, “Woah, woah, Kyle, buddy! Calm dow–”

**_“You_ ** **said** **_you_ ** **were** **_done_ ** **drinking! And what the fuck are you fucking** **_even doing?! Drinking before you get on the fucking plane?!!”_ **

Cartman wheezes like he just ran a four-minute mile, “Alright, Kahl, hhh, shut the _fhhuck_ up before security, hha, **_kicks our ass–”_ **

**_“No, Kyle!_** I **was** ** _not_** **drinking** **before I got on the plane!”** Stan says with eyes wide, hands up before they draw down the side of his jeans, Kyle eyeing him with suspicion.

All four boys watch with bated, confused breath as his wobbly fingers move down his pants much too slowly, encumbered by intoxication.

Stan digs under the cuff of his pant leg and Kenny slaps a hand to his face so hard he swears he almost breaks his damned nose.

_“OhmyGodStanyoufuckingretard–”_

_“I was drinkin’_ **_on_ ** _the plane!”_ he shouts almost _proudly,_ pulling from between his pants and sock a tiny black flask that had surely been filled with hard vodka to be so small and make him so drunk regardless. “The old lady sittin’ next to me even helped herself to some!”

An elderly woman just so happens to pass by at that exact time, giving the young man a cheeky thumbs up with her own shiny flask in palm and then walking on a shaky cane to the belt.

“Thanks, **_Cheryl!”_ **

_Well, if Kyle was going to knock Stan unconscious before, now he’s going to_ **_literally fucking_ ** **murder** **_him._ **

**“You could have been** **_arrested, Stan!_ ** **You should be in** **_fucking jail right now!”_ **

But before he can actually assault Stan with more than just words, Kenny grabs him by the coat collar and _yanks_ him back enough to choke him for a second. “It’s okay!” he says, Kyle seething like a wild fucking animal in his arms, “He’s a fucking dumbass, it’s okay, Kyle, we all know that!”

_“I fucking_ **_hate_ ** _him!”_

“I know, I know, _we_ **_all_ ** _do,”_ Kenny breathes, pulling Kyle away so his nails stop brushing against the cotton of Stan’s navy shirt, a slowly bewildered Stan taking a step back and _falling right on his ass with a huff._

_Fucking_ **_idiot._ **

The short blonde of the group suddenly tilts his head to look into Stan’s glassy eyes. “H-Hey,” Butters stutters, everyone glancing to him immediately, “where’s W-Wendy?”

Stan, sitting there on the airport floor, just blinks for a second.

Then his face goes all red within seconds, his irritated eyes becoming further glossy until they burst dramatically with tears.

_Kyle just rolls his fucking eyes into his skull._

_“Wendy! Oh, Wendy!_ **_Whhhyyyy!”_ **

Butters kneels down, putting a hand to Stan’s back as he wails, all the other guys a mixture of grimaces and frowns at the miserable display in a baggage claim of all places.

“What’s wr-wrong, b-buddy? What happened? _O-oh g-geez, d-did the plane crash?”_

Kenny goes, “Uhh, Butters, Stan’s _right here, so–”_

“I brought this!” flask in air, _“in case_ that happened! _Which it unfortunately_ ** _did not!”_** he slurs, slumping on the ground and crushing Butters’ hands holding him up.

_Idiot,_ Kyle shakes his head.

“Then _what_ happened?” Cartman spits, folding his arms.

Renewed tears well in Stan’s eyes, sobs wracking his shaking chest so he can barely cry out, “Sh-she, Wendy, she, oh God, _she broke up with me!”_

Everyone audibly gasps.

Even Kyle, who's still trying to claw at Stan’s throat.

And then Cartman claps his fat hands together in giddy. _“That means she’s open!”_

**“Cartman!”** everyone instantly snaps.

Butters circles a hand on Stan’s back, pouting in sympathy. “Oh, i-it-it’s okay, S-Stan. She did it a wh-while ago and you're only realising it now that you're b-back home?”

**_“No!”_ ** he bawls on the gleam of the floor, “she did it _in the airport_ **_a few hours ago!”_ **

Kyle stops his scrabbling fingers, a crestfallen expression to match his sobbing friend. “That’s fucked up.”

“I know!” Stan cries, lying motionless on the floor and bawling his eyes out like a twenty-year-old baby. “I asked her _why_ and she just said that I-I-I,” he sobs hard, _“I didn’t love her!”_

Kenny lets Kyle go, dropping him back fully onto his boots as he wonders aloud, _" 'Didn't love her'..?"_

Kyle leans forward and asks with concern, “What does that mean? You weren't in love with her?”

_“Of course_ I was in love with Wendy! I-I loved her so _f-fucking much!_ She didn’t see it s-somehow, I-I didn’t see that she was getting tired or whatever…”

Stan starts to wipe the tears from his face, a crowd of people grimacing and staring as they pass the fallen man.

“She said, said, I was just…” he opens his eyes, looking right at Kyle standing before him, above him but kneeling to level them more.

**_“Acting.”_ **

Kyle furrows his brows. _“Acting?”_

_“Acting_ like I was in love.” He sits up, tossing his hands into the air in desperation. “Acting, all these years, _just acting!_ Like it was never real, _l-like_ **_I_ ** _never felt anything!”_

Cartman huffs. “Well, is that true?”

Stan spits, “Of c-course it’s not! I _loved_ that girl, _with all my damn heart! It was real, it was genuine!”_ He lets out a miserable sniffle, slapping a hand to cover his cherry red face, “And now she’s gone, forever! I tried texting her about a hundred times, called her every ten minutes, no fucking answer! She’s probably already changed her n-number!”

Kyle and Cartman lock eyes, glances of green and brown shifting down to the dark phone on the floor before meeting again.

They both then lunge for it, Cartman closer but weighed down by his body none-too-athletic, Kyle sliding coolly on his knees enough to give himself a burn from his pants, but it’s all in vain.

**“Hah!”** Cartman shouts, holding the phone up in the air victoriously.

_And then Kenny leans down and plucks it from his fingers effortlessly._

He hums over everyone’s shouting as he unlocks it, Stan _of course_ without a password.

He clicks the message app and scrolls up miles of text all aligned to the right, alone and growing increasingly more coherent as time flies **backward** over the hours.

**_“Jesus Christ, Stan,”_ ** Kenny mutters, shaking his head. He reads off in an overly-dramatic impression of Stan’s higher voice as he scrolls his thumb up and down, _“ ‘Wendy,_ **_sweetie,_ ** _come back to me, please’, ‘What_ **_ever_ ** _did I do wrong?’, ‘Was it last night? But_ **_you_ ** _said_ **_you_ ** _were tired’, ‘I’ll do anything,_ **_anything,_ ** _just please’, ‘Wendy’, ‘Wendy’, ‘Wendy’, Wendy’..._ this goes on for another half hour every fifteen seconds.”

Cartman snickers. “Wow, that’s fucking pathetic, Marsh.”

**“Shut up!** Kenny, _come on!”_ he whines, trying to snap his hand from his tall friend’s shifting hand.

“No, no, man,” Kenny says humourlessly, glancing down to Stan with a frown. “You’ve got a problem, dude. This isn’t okay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Cartman shouts. “You, Kenny, saying it’s not okay to harass the womyns? You chase tail every other night!”

Kenny shrugs, puffing. “Well, maybe I’m trying to be a better person, unlike **_some_ **people here… Anyway!” he tosses Stan his precious phone back without a care, turning on his heel, “let’s get this show on the road, boys! My dad needs his truck back before five or else he’s gonna beat the shit out of me!”

He casts a weary glance over his shoulder to Stan now sitting up fully. “That’s why you stop drinking, Stan. Before it’s too late.” He offers a half-hearted smile.

Butters gasps, pulling on Stan’s hand to get him to try to stand as he watches Kenny stride on, pushing through the crowd to the baggage area.

“Come on, m-mister! I don’t want K-Kenny to get a bl-black eye a-a-again!”

So Stan grunts and comes to wobbly feet.

Kyle eyes him distantly, arms to his side and deciding whether or not he should support his friend.

_He would have, no hesitation, years ago._

_But now?_ **_Now they were_ ** **twenty fucking years old.**

And he realizes maybe him patting his best friend on the back while he threw up into a toilet or on the bare grass was the reason why he was still like this now.

_Brain damage from a developing mind abusing liquor,_ he shrugs as he turns on his heel, leaving only Butters and Cartman to attend to a thoroughly intoxicated Stanley.

Cartman watches the redhead leave without so much as a glance back, whistling. _“Wow,”_ he says to Stan who barely seems to hear him, too busy trying not to pass out, “now _that’s_ fucking cold, even for me!”

A Butters still rather short and stout does his best to bear the brunt of Stan’s stumbling weight as they try to move forward, Cartman just skulking behind them, maybe ready to catch Stan if he falls… _maybe._

Stan just groans and squints his eyes shut, tear stains drying to the heavy flush of his cheeks.

_Oh, Wendy…_

*****

**_“I’m on the highway to hell!”_ **

**_“Shut the fuck up!”_ **

_“You_ shut the **fuck** up, Cartman! It’s _my_ fucking car, so either you suck it up or you’re walking the rest of the way, and I'd _love_ to see your fat ass try to do that!”

_“It’s not even_ **_your_ ** _car,”_ Cartman spits, “it’s your dad’s car, you fucking street rat.”

“Says the dude who gets everything handed to him by his _mummy,”_ Kenny says, smiling as he makes Butters laugh next to him.

Cartman just growls before snapping his hands up, glaring outside.

Well, he tries to anyway.

“Can you fucking move, Jew? I’m trying to look at something more attractive than you, like cow pies.”

Kyle says nothing as he leans back into his seat. Having Cartman sat right against him was highly unpleasant, but he knows he’ll literally rip Stan’s throat out if he has to look at him again.

_“Wowwww,”_ Kenny mutters, glancing at the redhead in the rear-view mirror. “Nothing to say to _that,_ Kyle? Not even a ‘shut up, fatass’?”

Kyle doesn’t even blink, arms crossed and staring at the floor.

“It’s okay,” Kenny says as he switches lanes. “I know you were thinking it.”

Butters looks back over his headrest on the passenger's side. “And w-what about you, S-Stan?” he asks over the music.

Stan shakes his head. _“God,_ what can I even do?” He puts his head in his hands. “Can’t call her, can’t text her, how do I _do it?”_

“M-maybe you can try F-Facebook?”

“I see whose side _you’re_ on, Butters,” Kyle says, grinding his teeth almost audibly as Butters frowns, confused.

“Hey!” Kenny says smoothly, slapping the scarred wheel in his hand, “There’s no sides here!” He tries to laugh it off.

Everyone is, of course, rather unamused.

Kenny glances to the clouds outside the window, streaked with bright afternoon light. “Gonna be a loooong fucking roadtrip, guys…”

Everyone sighs.

“Just fucking kidding, morons!” he shouts with a grin, the white snow around the truck growing steadily in height until its nearly the size of the fucking car, burying a large sign recently renovated to be green, already water-stained metal.

_“South Park,”_ they all mutter, a chill running through their spines.

Like a curse or some shit.

Butters claps his hands together. “Whew! It’s only been half a day but boy have I missed it!” he giggles. “I can only _imagine_ what _you guys_ are feeling!”

_And he really can only_ **_imagine._ **

Kyle and Stan both sit up, watching the sign pass to the right so Kyle’s forced to stare past Stan, still wobbling slightly in his seatbelt which Cartman had to do for him like he was a fucking baby. A little man baby.

The truck travels on the worn roads with ease, going around turns twice the “recommended” speed limit with how many damn times Kenny's driven here. Every pothole, every crack, it’s all still there under the crunching snow beneath the tires, just as Stan and Kyle remember it.

Sleepy little South Park really hasn’t changed a bit, has it?

“Kyle’s house first!” Kenny calls out, turning into the borough that makes Kyle fill with a strange sense of awe, nostalgia hitting him like a wave. It had only been a fucking year but it felt like a _decade._ All the houses, the decorations, even the pets in the windows, they were all _the same._

And then he finally turns into the asphalt of Kyle’s driveway.

Kyle feels about ready to cry.

“Alright, and here we are, Kyle!” Kenny looks back, grinning as he puts the truck in park.

Kyle starts to mimic the smile, feeling real joy as he sees his house with fresh eyes for the first time in months. It’s beautiful. Large and cosy. So many memories. All his. Not even Cartman dare speaks to ruin the moment–

**“Oh my God!”**

Everyone turns to stare at the source of the sound.

Stan, of course. Still drunk as ever.

_“She fuckin’ blocked me!_ Oh my God, I can’t see her on Insta– _Uf!”_

The zip of Kyle’s jacket hits him square in the eye, making him flinch and cry out in agony.

The weight of the heavy thing is pretty bad too, all balled up against his chest and knocking the wind from one of his lungs, left to crumple against his lap.

Kyle stands there, now outside the car after a flurry of **furious** movement, seething, teeth looking sharp enough to pierce right through Stan’s pliant flesh.

He doesn’t even shiver now that he’s only wearing a red t-shirt while it’s fucking snowing, pure rage filling his veins.

**“Fuck. You. Stan. Marsh.”** He spits every word like a _disgusting_ **_slur._ **

He slams the door shut as hard as his body physically allows, already dented and scratched to all hell so Kenny doesn’t do anything but frown in sympathy at his anger.

**_“Fuck. You.”_ **

He stomps off up his driveway, fists clenched around his waist and yelling over his shoulder loud enough his family inside can surely hear of his arrival, “ **You’re a** **_fucking drunk!_ ** **And you** **_always_ ** **fucking will be!”**

Stan blinks inside of the car.

Kyle grabs the wooden railing, whirling on his heel to spit, **“No** **_fucking wonder_ ** **Wendy broke up with you! You’re a fucking** **_pathetic_ ** **piece of** **_fucking shit,_ ** **Stan! I never want to** **_fucking_ ** **see you again, or I’m going to kill you, I** **_swear_ ** **to God!”**

He runs up the stairs, tears of fury spilling only as he’s around the corner and out of sight, leaving all of them to wonder if they just imagined the slight warble in his last bites of words.

They’re all silent in the car before Kenny moves the gear, the boyish charm of Metro Station’s Shake It barely even a distraction at this point.

_“Well,_ ** _fuck,_** Stan,” Kenny says as he begins to reverse. “You’re gonna have to work hard to fix that ruined relationship, buddy…”

Cartman just snickers darkly as Stan groans, pulling that black flask out of his pocket and taking one final sip of it.

There’s only meagre drops left, but he’s desperate for anything at this point as the bitterness fills his mouth, because, fuck he’s ruined his relationship for sure now.

But, oh…

_Oh, Wendy…_

*****

**“Kyle!”** A woman calls as he bounds up the stairs, ignoring the way the house feels all too small from what he remembers. “Kyle, honey, what’s wrong?!”

Gerald shakes the paper in his hands, looking back down to it and figuring his son a lost cause. “Was he crying?” he asks gruffly.

“Oh my God!” Sheila practically wails.

She runs up the stairs to find Ike already there, the 15-year-old teenager tilting his head and knocking on Kyle’s door.

“Kyle!” his mom calls through the door.

On the other side of the locked thing, Kyle’s sitting on his bed, lying spread eagle on the small piece of furniture with fists clenched over his face.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know **_why_** he’s crying.

He _fucking_ hates Stan, hates him to his very core, his fucking _guts,_ his _very being, all of it._

**_Fuck._ **

But the tears turn from rage to exasperation, sliding down his face into his old, clean covers he’s had since he was a _child,_ running like a river. He can’t even hear his mom nor his brother for the blood rushing in his head, a steady thrum that makes him dizzy even as he just lays there, balling his eyes out silently.

Ike hands his mom a q-tip as he runs from the bathroom, and she undoes the simple lock to slowly creak it open.

_“Oh, Kyle,”_ she murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken as she takes a step into the room. “This isn’t how your first day home was supposed to go…”

Kyle does his best to sit up on the bed, leaning against the wall to support himself. Fuck, it’s almost like he’s as drunk as fucking _Stan._

“I-I kn-kno-know, M-Mom,” he wracks shakily through sobs, unable to control the desperate, heaving breaths that claw through his lungs.

She walks over him to pull him into a warm hug, feeling the chill on his skin that makes him suddenly flush, realizing just how fucking _terrible_ he feels.

She presses her head into his shoulder, the large bun of red hair atop her head skirting against his cheek and feeling oddly comforting.

Nothing’s more soothing than a mother’s embrace, he supposes.

_“What_ ** _happened?”_** she asks quietly, her voice reverberating throughout his skin.

Kyle shakes his head, feeling the weight on the bed shift as Ike sits next to him as well, putting a hand to his older brother's shoulder.

“I-I don’t even _kn-know!”_ He grimaces, the tremoring sobs becoming painful inside him, physically and emotionally. “I-I-I shouldn’t even be c-crying, right now, _Mom…”_

He sounds _absolutely miserable._

She tuts in sympathy, sliding a hand around his neck to press over Ike’s small one. “It’s okay, honey. I know homesickness can be rough…”

Kyle chokes, inhale catching in his trachea so he sputters, spit and tears getting all over his face so Ike moves slightly back. His mother only presses closer.

“It’s not even that! I w-wish, Mom! _Fuc–_ I mean, _God–_ I mean–”

“You can say fuck _and_ God, honey. **Just this** **_once.”_ **

He cries even harder at that, holding his mom’s fingers painted red across his arms, “Fuck, _Mom, it’s Stan.”_

She tilts her head, moving back to look him in the eyes. _“Stan?”_

Kyle nods desperately. “Stan! F-fucking St-Stan!” he sniffles, tears finally beginning to dry from his tear ducts, “His girlfriend broke up with him–”

“Wendy Testaburger?” Ike remembers.

“Yeah, **_W-Wendy._** In the airport just before they left, even…"

His mother cups his face in the fleshy palm of her open hand, tilting his head so she can look him clean in his red, irritated eyes. “But why are _you_ crying, honey? He’s not _your_ boyfriend.”

Kyle whimpers and Ike chokes a little.

_“Uh, I mean, y-yeah._ B-but, he, got _dr-drunk,_ is the thing that bothers m-me. _Wasted,_ really. Could barely stand to, well, stand, Mom. H-he told me he wouldn’t drink at all last year, at least not enough to get more than buzzed–”

Sheila gasps. _“But you’re still all underage to drink!”_

“I know, Mom,” Kyle sighs, patting her hand and managing a smile through his tears that only slip every few seconds now. “But he does… he can’t help it… I just, just, didn’t want to see him like this again…”

She sighs in sympathy, pulling Kyle into a tight hug that squeezes his very bones, makes the lights dim enough he slips slightly from reality, going into himself in a world of his own introspection.

But was all that _really_ true, though? Was it really _just because_ of Stan’s drinking? Because somehow, some way, that seemed like a lie. A partial truth, but not nearly the whole thing.

He thinks back to just before he’d fallen into this real burst of rage, the worst fit in his life besides perhaps a couple when Cartman was being a real fucking shitstain. He’d gotten mad at Stan for ruining his moment, sure, but, no, that wasn’t completely it, was it–

He gasps just as his mom cricks him tight enough to pop a few bones, force the air from his compressed lungs, meets Ike’s knowing gaze from over her shoulder, his bony hand on his back.

**_Wendy._ **

It was because of _Wendy._

It was because _Stan was still interested in Wendy._

But now he wasn’t dating her anymore, right?

_So…_

**_So?_ **

His mom lets go, giving him a smile that Ike, to the other side, mirrors, albeit with a glimmer of something in his eyes, a certain hopefulness.

Kyle grins, but bites his lip as he thinks inside his head all the while:

**_So_ ** **he** **_has a chance with Stan now._ **

**_Doesn’t he?_ **

*****

**“Stanley Marsh!”** A woman calls as he bounds up the stairs, ignoring the way the house feels all too small from what he remembers. “Stan, come back here!”

Randy shakes the paper in his hands, looking back down to it and figuring his son a lost cause. “Was he wasted?” he asks gruffly.

“Oh my God!” Sharon practically screams.

She runs up the stairs to find Stan’s door ajar, Shelly crossing her arms at his doorway and staring in, home yesterday morning from her own winter break.

“Yep,” Shelly says, trailing off in a vocal fry, “he’s fucking hammered, Mom.”

She gasps, breathing out a ragged exhale as she strides into Stan’s dark room.

_“Stanley!”_ she says, glancing at her son up and down as he’s laid out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re drunk?!”

He closes his eyes, opens them one at a time and then sighs. “Yeah, Mom. I am…”

She breathes sharply, as though offended. “Stan! How many times do I have to tell you: **You. Can. Not. Drink!”**

The words bite into him, all too familiar for some reason. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She frowns, hand on her hip. “You don’t seem very _sorry_ to me, Stanley!”

He shakes his head, closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m _so, so_ **_sorry.”_ **

She sighs, slumping as the air leaves her lungs, and she can’t help but walk over to him, leaving Shelly to peer into the door at her younger brother, smirking as she feels better than him once again. She could always rely on Stan to do that for her.

“Stan…” Sharon says, sitting down on the edge of his bed. _“What happened this time?”_

He exhales heavily, covering his eyes from the blinding white light that Shelly flips on. “G-God… I don’t even wanna talk about it…”

His mother clicks her tongue. “Well, honey, you have to tell me.” Her easy grin makes him smile a bit.

_“Or else you’re grounded_ **_the entire time you’re here.”_ **

He huffs the beginning of a chuckle. “Alright…” He uncovers his eyes, looking at his mother with a glassy blue, unable to completely focus, “Wendy… Wendy br… she broke up with me.”

There’s a second of silence, and then Shelly leans over from the door. **_“Really?”_ **

Their mother is ready to reprimand her, but Stan puts a hand up. “It’s fine. Yeah. She did it at the airport this morning.”

They’re both stunned. “What?” Sharon asks, utterly bewildered.

“Yeah. I asked her why, she said I didn’t love her or something…”

“That isn’t true though… is it?” Shelly asks.

Stan shakes his head vehemently. “Of course not. I loved her with all my heart, everything I had, every single day… She was so beautiful, and, and pretty, and… n-nice…”

Shelly hmphs. “Welp. A girl so rude she breaks up with you just before your wonderful flight back to your home town, I say she’s no good anyway. Good riddance.”

**_“Shelly–”_ **

“No. It’s okay, Mom. She’s _probably_ _right…”_

His mom turns back to him, running a reassuring hand on his calf. “Oh, it’ll get better, Stan… Time heals all wounds.”

_So fucking cheesy…_

_Just what he needed._

“Now take off your damn shoes already,” she says, pulling on his sneakers covered in snow melting into his sheets, the carpet.

Stan manages a laugh. “Okay, Mom. You got it.”

She moves back a bit, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Are you really gonna be alright, honey?”

Stan pauses for a second, looking up to think. And then he smiles easily, a white, toothy grin to his mom that makes her unable to remember him as a child, sweet and innocent all over again. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks, Mom.”

She gives him one last pat to his leg and then rises, grabbing Shelly by the shoulder to force her out. “Dinner’s almost ready in half an hour, Stanley,” she says behind her short brown hair, tossing him a hopeful smile.

“Got it.”

The door closes quietly behind them, light flicked off under his mom’s manicured nail.

Stan gets up, sitting at his desk feeling oddly large. Probably because his brain is partial to remembering it as though he were a child, still.

He turns on his PC, listening to the old thing whir. He had enough money now from working part-time at a Starbucks in college to buy a new one. Maybe he would.

It turns on after a minute, and he immediately goes to the browser.

Types on the keyboard.

Makes a brand new account.

And there she is, in all of her usual glory.

Wendy Testaburger.

He smiles as he sees her beauty, standing on a pier, hands behind her leaning on a metal railing on a wonderfully sunny day. He remembers taking that picture, taking quite a few, actually. Never was just right for her, she’d look at it and then scoff, tell him to take another. This one was probably the fiftieth or so.

He laughs in his chair. Good times.

He scrolls further down the picture feed, brow furrowing as he slowly realizes something.

A lot of them are missing.

**_A lot_ ** _of them._

He might be behind the camera in almost all of them, but the ones where he used to be there, _in_ the frame… they’re _gone._ Without a trace. No comments telling why, no status update, nothing. Just vanished.

He gets up from his chair as he feels his head swim, unable to cry for having run dry on tears hours ago.

He reaches under his bed and feels a tinge of joy as he recovers a good old bottle of vodka. Still there after all these years. His mom never cleans under the bed, after all.

He pops the cork and drinks straight from it, leans on it as the burn runs over his tongue.

He just needs to come up with a plan, some method to get her back. Maybe he should try being sweet? Maybe pretending to be some other guy–Wait, isn’t that catfishing and isn’t that illegal?

Maybe he could call her, woe her with sweet words carefully, quietly–

No, that will never work. She’ll cuss him out the second she hears his voice.

He takes another swig, falling onto his ass on the floor, putting a hand to his face contorted in pure misery.

_Wendy…_

And then the doorknob turns, Stan unable to put the bottle away, let alone the cork back in, before Shelly has the door wide open, grinning at him evilly as she blinds him with yellow light again.

“I fucking knew it, Stan,” she says, shaking her head, long hair flying to and fro. “Come on, you’re really gonna do that _minutes_ after Mom gives you a tear-jerking talk?”

Stan grimaces. “Shut up, Shelly. I’m having problems today, okay?”

“You **_certainly_** are, **_little_** brother,” she mutters, batting her lashes in condescension. She sneers. “Now, tell me,” she says, shutting and locking the door behind her as she mutters, “did you have fun meeting all of your friends?”

Stan cradles the big bottle in his lap. No point in putting the cap on now, he guesses. “What do you mean?”

Shelly tilts her head. “Your _friends?_ You know, the ones you’ve had since you were in elementary school?” She squints, putting a finger to her lip as her eyes roll back in recall. “Wasn’t there that _one_ that you were friends with since kindergarten?”

_“Kyle?”_

“Yeah,” she says, waggling her nail painted green, “that’s the one… Kyle… Brov-something…”

“Kyle Broflovski.”

“Mm, yep. The Jew-boy,” she grins. “How was it, brother? Meeting _him_ after an entire year?”

Stan looks at the black, shiny rim of the bottle, heavily tempted but barely resisting. “Why the fuck do you care, Shelly?”

Shelly puts her hands to her hips, sighing. “Because, _bro,_ I _do_ care about you, you know that? I might not show it the best, but what siblings do, anyways?”

“Giving me a wedgie for years sure is a weird way of showing love…”

She waves a hand. “That’s all behind us now, Stanley. Just let me help you! Tell me, what was it like? How did you feel? I mean, hah, I’m sure you guys were always talking or texting or Discording or whatever it is you boys use nowadays.”

Stan frowns, looking at the carpet. “I, uh… no, we actually _haven’t_ been talking that much before…”

Shelly’s face wrinkles, eyes twitching to him and the wall. “Really? But you guys were like,” she pinches her fingers together tight, “like **this!”**

“I-I know… we just… couldn’t find time or something,” Stan says, voice oddly high.

Shelly walks over to him slowly, coming to sit next to him cross-legged on the floor. “I know you’re lying, brother, because you’re _really fucking bad at it.”_ She smiles. “Just tell me the truth, Stan. If anyone can hear, it’s your big sister who doesn’t give near enough shits to tell anyone.”

Stan closes his eyes. “Fine. It’s because of Wendy. She'd get… jealous, for some reason.”

His sister nods, face calm with relief. _“I knew it.”_

“What?”

Shelly grins at him, taking the bottle out of his fingers lax with shock. “I never liked her, you know. Too bossy, too smart.” Her green nails click on the black bottle, making a sharp tinkling noise. “And not smart in the good way, either. Smart like, a _fucking smartass. Pretentious._ A goody goody but, again, not in the good way.”

“What does that even _mean?”_

Shelly tilts her head, sighing as she slumps further onto the floor, her white shorts pooling around her legs that come to lie over Stan’s carelessly. “I mean she was also selfish, Stan. And I know I’m not innocent in that regard, hell, who is? But _she_ was a _fucking_ **_cunt–”_ **

**_“Hey!–”_ **

**“She** **_was, Stan!”_ ** she snaps, leaning forward to challenge him. Memories of that same face but filled with braces, smiling down as she poured a gallon of water on him to wake him up rekindling in his mind, making him a coward that backs down immediately.

Shelly brandishes the bottle up in triumph, smiling easily. “She was _a selfish bitch."_

"Oh, Shelly, don't talk about **yourself** like that!" Stan quips.

Shelly just sticks out her tongue, unaffected as she continues, "Well, **_Wendy_ ** cared only about **_herself._ ** What _she_ wanted, where _she_ wanted to go, what _she_ wanted _you_ to do. Did she ever ask _you_ how _you_ were feeling? What _you_ thought? Because _I_ sure as hell didn’t, all those hours she was over right next to my room, yelling at you for being _‘incompetent’.”_

Stan seethes, reaching for the bottle only for Shelly to immediately quip it out of reach. “It’s _the truth,_ Stan. I know it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but think about it as you wallow in depression these next few days. She didn’t care about you, Stan, didn’t care about her friends, about your friends, _no one._ That kinda attitude might get you far in work life, but amongst people?”

Shelly presses the bottle to her glossy lips, staring at her brother panting in anger. She winks, voice made hollow as it echoes in the glass of pure vodka, _“Those kinda people die alone, Stan.”_

She takes a quick chug of it before Stan rends the bottle from her mouth, shaking his head in fury. **“Get out, get the** **_fuck_ ** **out–”**

Shelly cackles as she rises, brushing her shirt and shorts, shaking her head as that pleasant buzz runs over her. “And _I’m_ 23, Stan, old enough to drink!” She boops him on the nose with her pointer finger, Stan snarling like a feral beast and only serving to make her laugh more.

She practically skips across the room, Stan about to applaud her departure when she stops, hand on the doorknob, to snap her gaze to him once again. “Just don’t be like her, okay?” she simpers with an oddly soft look in her eyes. “Just think of other people. Especially your _friends.”_

And then she’s out the door. “And the food’s ready, loser!”

The walls rattle as she slams the door, light still on.

Stan groans. He should go turn it off.

He looks at the corkless bottle in his lap, pondering it.

But his thoughts drift back to Shelly’s questions for some reason, stuck on something.

What was it?

_“... Did you have fun meeting all of your friends..?”_

_“... How was it..? Meeting him after an entire year..?”_

_“... What was it like? How did you feel..?”_

Stan sits there in his childhood bedroom on the carpet, staring confusedly at a bottle of vodka, and realizes he doesn’t know the answers to any of these fucking questions.

Because he didn’t really care. Not at the time.

Too busy thinking of Wendy, he realizes.

Too busy thinking of her to even feel the joy of reuniting with his friends. Too drunk and wallowing in his self-pity to even begin to care about them.

About Kyle.

It hits him like an ice cold tidal wave, what a fucking **_asshole he is_** _._

Kyle was on the verge of _fucking tears._ So consumed by selfless fury that he could no longer enjoy himself at all, just screaming in rage at Stan as he ran into his house. Those biting words he spat, how Stan would _always_ be a drunkard and _nothing_ more, how Kyle made it clear just how little Stan meant to him anymore, how he _loathed_ every fibre of his _fucking_ being.

And it was all _Stan’s_ fault. No one else’s. Not even Wendy’s. He couldn’t change her breaking up with him. That was long gone, it seemed.

He looks down at the bottle.

But he could change the way he reacted.

He corks it and stows it back under the bed, kicks off his red shoes onto the floor and goes to enjoy coming home to his beautiful, horrible family downstairs, vowing it off forever.

_For now, at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next chapter will be posted sometime on Wednesday, the 18th. Then Sunday after that, Wednesday after that, etc. until the 10th and final chapter which will be up on Jan 15th! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Was it even a tiny bit funny..? Because I sure hope so lol!


	2. Hey There Delilah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**“Arcade?** There’s an **arcade?”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Thanks for reading the 1st chap and commenting and all that, guys! ^^ Makes me very happy lol 
> 
> There’s some sexual innuendos this chapter but nothing overt, of course. That’ll be the next one lol!

_December 17th, 2019 - Tuesday_

Two entire days of awkwardness and aimlessness.

The Boys did go out to various restaurants and stores and the mall, they went “shopping” together, _loitering, really,_ but it was quite hard to enjoy themselves.

 _Mostly because the newly reintroduced couple of super best friends were very_ **_not_ ** _super best friends at the moment._

They both woke in a haze, immediately weighed down by the knowledge of what had happened on the 15th, already wanting the fucking day to just be over.

Stan felt like utter shit, because he was.

Kyle felt sad because he knew he couldn’t help his friend, because he felt it was partly his fault from years of accidental encouragement.

They did answer the calls and texts of the other group members, usually Kenny and Cartman the initiators, but even Butters was more quick to announce something in their group chat than Kyle or Stan, the ones who had previously been something like co-leaders of the group.

It felt off, made everyone uneasy.

And the actual events themselves were mostly a mess. It felt sloppy, disjointed. **_Wrong._ **

The other three got along pretty fine, but then there were _those_ _fucking_ ** _two._**

_Just standing there, mopping about._

As Cartman so eloquently put it, “Fuckin’ ruinin’ everything,” over another bowl at a buffet as the two sat diagonal to each other, a mix of sighs and wary glances, their empty plates even looking sad.

“Can you just kiss and make up already?” he said with noodles still hanging from his mouth.

 _But Kyle_ **_couldn’t even_ ** _call him out as the_ **_disgusting slob he_ ** **was,** _too heartbroken, too nervous._

It killed Kenny, but even more it did Butters, the less asshole-ish members of the unaffected triad. Although, that’s certainly not very hard, because it’s Cartman, after all.

But they still tried desperately to make them friends somehow, to push them gently to try to talk, _just a little._

But they just **would not** fucking take it.

They seemed to literally prefer sitting in unbearable, awkward silence than make a single fucking peep.

 _Kyle even went into a fucking_ **_Victoria’s Secret_ ** _rather than spend a_ **_minute_ ** _in Stan’s company. And any guy knows what agony it is to step a foot into that cursed land,_ **_especially_ ** _alone._

But the knowledge that they were letting everyone else down, including each other, even themselves, to an extent, made them both feel even worse than they already did. It was a horrible feedback loop which only drove them further into an isolated depression.

 _Their parents had no idea what to do with them,_ **_obviously._ **

Their entire family didn’t, really. Their respective siblings might have known well enough their precarious situations, but either didn’t have the prowess _or_ the poise to pose the proper questions, get them to open up and talk.

The two would instead put on pleasant-enough smiles, be kind and be treated kind— _for the most part_ —back.

But they could get no major assistance from them, both because they didn’t know how to say what was going on, and because they knew no one could help them but themselves.

_What a horrible fate, truly._

So they would go home and sit alone on their beds, at the chairs to their desks, just staring blankly at screens, doors, windows, looking for a distraction that they could never find for more than a minute before their brains _remembered._

It wore them down slowly over the hours until it came time to call it a night yet again. Even full of the delicious meal by their mothers **_far_ ** _superior_ to the ones at their colleges, warm from the delightful AC of their familiar homes now feeling just the right size again, _it didn’t matter._

Their thoughts were so heavy it drove Kyle to tears the second night of his return again, as well as the third.

Like he was mourning the death of a friend, because _he supposes he kind of was._

They were not nearly wracking sobs anymore, not all-encompassing sadness.

_Just… misery._

A _light, tolerable_ misery which made tears fall down his face and into his pillow, silent as the night.

It was tolerable in that it was nice and clean, without the usual snot or drool of a _harder sobbing session,_ just making his face flushed, eyes puffy, glossy, but that was it.

He could handle it.

Drift off into an uneasy slumber and repeat it all over again the next day.

 _And the fact that he’d been in love for half a decade with the person he hated most at the moment_ **_certainly_ ** _didn’t help._

But Stan didn’t fall into near of a depression because he had a trusty old pal.

_And it wasn’t Sparky, although the big welcome hug he got when the dog wasn’t patrolling the backyard was nice sometimes._

No, it was pretty fucking obvious.

**_The bottle of vodka._ **

He would take it and down a bitter swallow every few minutes or so, until the buzz overtook him and then a numbness overtook that. Let his mind become blurry to the point he couldn’t hear himself think, could barely focus on the sadness, both of losing Kyle and of losing Wendy.

And he’d just sit at his computer and stare at the bright screen until four in the morning and finally turn it, exhausted.

But at least he wasn’t sad anymore.

_At least he could sleep._

*****

It’s the afternoon of the fourth day back, the 18th, when Kenny finally decides _enough is_ **_fucking enough._ **

“This has to end,” he murmurs to Butters with a tense, fake smile as they watch the other three leave.

 _“B-but I-I_ **_like_ ** _the movie!”_ Butters pouts over a couple of Skittles, eyes glued to the screen. Kid would watch fucking anything that moved, Kenny swears to God… except horror film. He **hated** that shit.

Kenny takes a handful of Skittles and shoves them all into his mouth, grinning at Butter’s offended expression. _At least he got him to look!_

 _“Not the fucking_ **_movie,_ ** _Butters._ As in, we’ve gotta do something about our _Stan_ and _Kyle._ And fast. I am _not_ spending five fucking weeks with those fucking losers.”

“Kenny, _they’re our_ **_f-friends!”_ **

“I know, dude!” Kenny says, eyes wide over the sounds of an explosion, Butters huffing as he misses it. Like there was even anything to miss. “They _are_ our _dear_ friends, so we should help them, _however_ we can. And right now, right now they’re in fucking _hell,_ so we need to dig them out of there!”

Butters tilts his head, flashes of colour from the movie projector glowing onto the side of his face. “W-Well then, h-how do we do t-that?”

Kenny grumbles. “See, never was good at the whole relationship shit. I don’t know, Buttercup. I **_really_ ** _don’t fucking know._ ‘Cause, see, it’s not easy, can’t just tie ‘em up together and let ‘em hug it out, they’ll sooner kill each other or stay frozen until the fucking world ends; can’t take ‘em out to a candlelit dinner because they’d think I’m fucking with them and immediately fucking leave…”

Kenny slaps his leg, tousling the large slushie in his lap. “Think of something, Butters! **_Quick!”_ **

_“U-U-U-Uhhh,”_ Butters stutters like he’s under a white-hot prison spotlight controlled by his father, “Th-the park!”

_“It’s winter, Butters!”_

“I-Ice s-skating!”

 _“Too gay,_ but good one!”

“Bo-Bowling!”

 _“Come on, you think they’re gonna do_ **_anything_ ** _but just get silently pissy?!”_

“A-Ar-Arcade!”

 _“Well, see, an arca–”_ Kenny stops, squints at his friend, **_“Arcade?_ ** There’s an **_arcade?”_ **

“Y-yeah, K-Ken!” Butters points to the right side of the theatre completely empty but for them and maybe the employee sleeping up in the wings, “R-Right in this mall! J-Just opened!”

Kenny full-on **_gasps,_** jaw hanging open as he grabs Butters by his small shoulders and **_fucking shakes_** him, a rattling, **_“U_** **u** ** _u_** **u** ** _u_** **u** ** _h,”_** falling from Butters’ mouth all the while in a way that makes Kenny smile, a white suspiciously too good for the dental care he definitely _doesn’t_ get.

 **“Butters!”** Kenny shouts, feeling more than a little bad at the instinctive flinch he gets.

So he grins extra wide as he says, _“You’re a fucking_ **_genius,_ ** _man!”_

Butters crumples up a bit, finger to his cheek as he feels a flush run over his face. _“O-oh, I don’t know a-about_ **_that…”_ **

Kenny keeps smiling, moves forward to pull him into a hug made painful by the armrest in the middle of them.

He presses his face into short blonde hair, joy audible in his voice, _“No, you_ **_totally_ ** _fucking are, dude.”_

_"O-Oh, Ken, I-I-I-"_

The door to the theatre swings open.

Kenny jumps away from Butters like he's _on fire,_ coming to a stand as the seat flies back and violently rocks with sheer velocity.

 **“We’re going to the arcade, boys!”** he yells at the top of his lungs, forcing a hesitant Butters from his seat with a hand to his wrist. It seems platonic enough, Kenny’s a handsy guy.

There is a slight blush to both of their faces, but the other three think nothing of it, drawing it down to the redshift of the flick.

Cartman puts his hands up in exasperation, well, he tries to anyway, arms full as they are with **Exxtra** large boxes of popcorn and candy and sodas and **_Jesus Christ_ ** _man._

“Hey!” he barks, “And what am I supposed to do with this!”

Kenny walks the aisle, down the slope made sticky with gum and soda and lord knows what else… _maybe he’d add to that lord knows what else one day…_

 _No,_ **_bad_ ** _Kenny._

He shakes his head from his dirty thoughts, “Shut up, lardass. You’ll eat it all on the walk there.” Kenny laughs, patting the rotund feature of Cartman’s body as he slips past them. _“Can’t go losing your figure, now can ya?”_

Cartman grumbles but Kenny’s already walked on by, Butters following diligently after him and popping one last piece of green candy into his mouth.

Cartman sighs, but turns, ready to follow.

And then he’s forced to glare at Kyle, who just fucking stands there, staring out the door like an idiot.

_Could heartbreak also break one’s brain? Because that sure seems to be what’s happened the past couple of days._

**“Get a move on,** **_striped pyjama boy!”_ ** Cartman shouts. **“Mush!”**

Kyle pauses, squinting, so it seems almost, _almost,_ like he’s gonna kick Cartman’s shit in.

 _And that would almost be_ **_wanted_ ** _at this point._ Cartman must admit the apathy is highly irritating. Makes the food taste worse and shit.

But then Kyle just breathes out, blinks, and turns to walk out the door with his little box of butterless popcorn in his slender hand.

Cartman follows him, and after a bit, Stan trails after Cartman. Because God knows the two wouldn’t be caught dead walking in a line without some cushion between them nowadays.

Cartman sighs. First he has to deal with these two tumours, now he can’t even scarf down his food in the comfort of a theatre chair?

**Fucking bullshit.**

**_That’s_ ** _what it was._

*****

The arcade is awash in technicolour: blues, purples, reds, pops of yellow and green from various machines.

It’s mostly empty, being evening and just an hour before closing, but there are still a few stupid kids running around on sugar highs, ripping up long ribbons of tickets much to the dismay of their tired parents and the teenage employees.

Their eyes light up, all ten of them, at the retro sounds and sights of the arcade store, no music for the machines making their own, the atmosphere God-like and smelling of grape soda and candy corn… _Wait, that's just Cartman throwing all the boxes_ **_picked clean_ ** _into a_ **_fucking garbage can…_ **

_Still, the place is_ **_fucking amazing._ **

So they all rush in, storm the counter where a poor girl does her best to hand out hundreds of tokens to them as fast as they badger her. Even Kyle and Stan are somewhat impatient, exchanging some dough and then stealing the coins from her with a grin and a curt _“Thank you!_ ” at best.

The emo-looking guy at the counter—isn’t that _years_ out of style now?—takes the wrists of the adults and half-assedly presses down on their hands with the handgun of a stamp machine, sighing _each_ and _every_ time.

 _“Hah!”_ Butters squees after he gets his, running up to show Kenny who’s already walking up the stairs into the arcade, left hand stamped with red numbers one less than Butters’, “It’s just like Chuck E Cheese!”

“Yeah,” Kenny says, “almost a lawsuit-level likeness… _Not that this place makes enough to even break-even…”_

Cartman just grunts when he feels the sticky ink coat his flesh, smearing it with his hand immediately despite the guy’s tepid warning not to. Cartman is _not_ a fucking baby, he doesn’t need a _fucking serial number!_

Stan goes next, not really sure how he got behind lardass when he was carefully trying not to, but holds up his left hand all the same, sliding the immense amount of fake coins into his jean pockets with the other.

The guy stamps it, says some monologue so quietly Stan can’t hear it and so just says a, _“Okay, thanks!”_ when the dude stares at him for a moment after he’s apparently done, stepping back to fix his pockets overflowing with shit now.

Kyle steps up next, spreading his hand out on the counter. The guy does the same old, same old, about to fucking shoot himself for having to say this stupid crap to five fucking twenty year olds now, when he suddenly stops murmuring to himself.

 _“Huh,”_ the guy mutters, lifting the stamp machine.

The girl comes over, sliding up next to him. “Something wrong, Ivan?”

 _Of course_ his name was Ivan.

He flips the stamp machine over, looks at it with all the worry a minimum-wage, careless employee could possibly have.

“Think it’s outta ink, Clarissa…” he expertly deduces.

 _“Oh_ ** _no!”_** “Clarissa” gasps, taking the plastic gun from his hand and inspecting it thoroughly. _“Ah, fuck…”_ She looks up to the redhead still at the counter, nervously laughing. _“Mm, I mean, oh_ ** _darn!”_**

Kyle frowns, tilting his head. “Is that a big problem, though?”

Clarissa bounces back and forth, nervously waving bitten fingers through the air. “Aw, yeah, see… normally, it wouldn’t be… _buuuuut,”_ she looks past her auburn hair to the end of the counter, taking out a cardboard box and rustling it to show off its apparent emptiness. “We’re all out of ink cartridges…”

 _“Someone_ forgot to write that down…”

 _“Ivan!”_ she shout-whispers, _“Not in front of customers!_ Anyway!” She claps her hands together, leaning forward. “We are _terribly sorry,_ but you’re going to have to find a supplementary way to get your hand marked!”

Kyle furrows his brow. “How could I possibly do that, though?”

She throws her weight from either hip anxiously, biting her lip, _“Ummmm–”_

“Just have someone else rub off the ink onto your hand,” Ivan breathes, propping his face up on a hand, elbow against the glass of the counter containing a myriad of dumb prizes beneath it. “Takes about two minutes to dry, so just go find that black-haired guy and get him to do it.”

Kyle glances to the glowing wall clock, grimacing. “Uh, I uh, actually, could I just go without the handprint… _please?”_

Clarissa shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s against store policy, sorry! We have to do it for all adults and all children, no exceptions! _For_ **_safety!”_ **

Kyle huffs, finding himself getting a bit irritated even at these service workers who he sympathizes with heavily. “I can drive a car. I’m sure I’ll be fine and will _not_ get kidnapped.”

“Rules are rules, dude,” Ivan sighs. “Now just go find your buddy before the fucking ink dries, or we'll have to kick you out.”

Kyle balls his fists.

“But don’t worry,” Ivan smirks, _“you’ll get a refund.”_

The look in the emo’s eyes, barely visible past the glossy dome of black hair he has, it fills Kyle with a certain kind of rage.

 _They sparkle with something like an invitation, a_ **_challenge._ **

_And Kyle can’t_ **_stand it._ **

So he spins around, walks up the shallow steps into the main area with all the games and whatever, and slams right into Stan fucking Marsh standing in the shadows between two pinball machines.

 **“Ah, fuck!”** they both exclaim in unison, hands mirroring each other as they fly to their heads which knocked together.

Kyle looks up at his super best friend forever, for the first time in what _feels_ like forever.

Instead of spitting, _“Why the fuck are you standing there, you fucking retard. Oh, and by the way, I can_ **_still_ ** _smell the vodka on your breath!”_ like he _so sorely wants to,_ Kyle somehow manages to whisper a quiet, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Stan mutters, taking a step back just as Kyle does. “You need your hand stamped?”

Kyle blinks. He’d been listening. _It’s only a little creepy._ “Yeah,” he says anyway.

Kyle holds out his hand in front of him, right in front of Stan’s chest. Stan looks down and tentatively takes it to steady it in the air, his touch so soft with his right hand it’s almost like he’s afraid Kyle’s going to break under him at any second.

Stan takes his own left hand and awkwardly manoeuvres it so it’s more or less parallel with Kyle’s smaller one opposite his, lining up the red ink on the back of his hand carefully before pressing down.

He barely pushes against Kyle's hand before he lifts up. Kyle flicks his wrist to see and shakes his head. “Gotta do it harder than that, Stan.”

“Got you.”

He takes his thin wrist back in hand and presses down with the other again, this time a little harder to make it so there’s more than just a few, barely visible red streaks on Kyle’s pale skin.

They break. Kyle clicks his tongue. “Come on, Stan, harder.”

Stan nods tersely, goes back to it, pressing down enough their hold moves down slightly.

Kyle huffs a hint of a chuckle this time. _“Harder, dude!”_

Stan smiles, smushing his wrist down against Kyle’s as they both descend into a silent fit of giggles at the silliness of it all.

 _“Oh, Stan!”_ a falsetto voice calls to the right of them.

And from behind one of the pinball machines, Cartman appears like the fucking Babadook. _“Harder! Harder, fuck my hand_ **_harder!”_ **

Kyle scowls.

He takes his right hand and cements it firmly down on Stan’s by the other’s warm palm just in stark _defiance_ to Cartman.

The sticky residue of red ink between their skins of slightly different shades of white almost glues them together, leaving their flesh tacky and clinging together by the cloying liquid.

_It feels kinda gross, but also oddly satisfying for some reason._

**“Fucking** ** _disgusting,”_** Cartman grimaces, _“Don’t fucking do that in front of me, you fa–”_

_“Shut the fuck up,_ **_fatass.”_ ** Kyle all but literally _snarls._

 _“Wow!”_ a lower voice says from halfway across the arcade and makes them all look over, “Now _that’s_ the _Kyle_ I know!”

Kenny emerges from the darkness, Stan and Kyle both looking from his face and then down to his arms and then feeling their eyes go saucer wide.

But not because Kyle’s hand is still around Stan’s wrist. No, that’s the lesser of two evils at the moment… _But Kyle still snaps his hand away when he notices, of course._

Cartman shrieks. “How the **fuck** did you get _so many tickets,_ Kenny?! You fucking **steal** them or something, you fucking **beggar?!”**

Kenny just laughs, throwing an elbow behind a machine playing Galaga where Butters steps out sheepishly to mutter, “I won the lottery!”

Cartman rolls his eyes. “Of. Fucking. Course. Only a _loser_ like Butters could win so much from a fucking game of chan– ** _Ow!”_ **

Kenny picks some of the cascading ribbons of gold paper back up, smiling despite Cartman now being doubled over after punching him square in the ribs, above where _most_ of his fat is. “Anyway, you better get a move on, guys! Whoever wins the most tickets gets to pick all the movies for this _entire week!”_

Cartman grumbles, “You didn’t say that _before_ Butters won!”

Stan butts in now, “Well, whatever, you are _not_ winning, Cartman. I am _not_ going to watch the Saw movies _a-fucking-gain!”_

Kenny about grins from ear to ear, even as Butters squeaks at the mere idea of gore behind him.

Because, _“Wow,_ first Kyle, now _Stan!_ Looks like all you really need is some hand-to-hand contact, after all,” he sighs, leaning back onto Butters with a knowing smirk.

Butters giggles, looking to the floor. _Maybe he really_ **_was_ ** _a genius?_

“Anyway, I’m down to watch the My Little Pony movie for the thousandth time when Butters wins, but I don’t know about you guys! So you better get ticketing!”

He strides off, Cartman grunting to himself about how the Saw movies were fucking masterpieces that only got better as the series went on as he disappears amongst the rows of machines.

Leaving Stan and Kyle.

_Awkward._

_Once a-motherfucking-gain._

But Stan breaks it, moving forward and plucking Kyle’s half-clenched hand from his side, surprising him enough to make a peep that he’s _immediately_ embarrassed by.

Stan just manoeuvres his hand calmly, dragging a finger through the still-drying ink on the very last digit to change it.

“Forty-one thousand, five hundred n’ forty to forty-one thousand, five hundred n’ forty- ** _one!”_ ** he sighs happily, smearing the red into a little cloud around a makeshift **1** mismatching the digital font of the numbers on Kyle’s hand.

Kyle takes his hand back once Stan lets go of his light hold, looking down at the digits.

They’re upside down, but oh well.

4154 **1**.

_Legible enough, he supposes._

“Thanks, Stan,” he says, giving him a little smile that reaches into his eyes.

“No problem, buddy.” He shoves a thumb to the left, toward the staff. “Now go show those fuckers so we can play some games!”

Kyle does just that while Stan’s off to try to find something to rack tickets up on.

 _Basketball?_ Kyle was good at that but if this arcade was like any other, the reward was paltry because the establishment knew it was too easy.

 _Retro video game machines?_ They seemed nice but Stan knew they were mostly just designed to eat up quarters and give you absolutely nothing but a lot of deaths and despair in return.

So he soon finds the skee ball ramp and settles on it. Good enough, he knows how to play fucking _skee ball._

**_Easy._ **

He loads up a couple fake quarters into the slot of the machine and receives a few multicoloured balls from the chute in return. Picks one up and feels the heavy plastic weight of it, looking up the flat ramp with a lip at the end and eyeing the bullseye of the raised target on the wall.

A hand slaps down on his shoulder just as he shoots, making him throw the fucking ball across the other lanes so he has to scurry over and grab it.

“Sorry, dude!” Kyle laughs from his other side. “Didn’t think you were _that_ focused!”

Stan huffs. It feels a bit weird to be acting all buddy-buddy with Kyle after they couldn’t stand to look at each other just an _hour_ ago, too **_easy_ ** _almost,_ but he lets it slide. _Just enjoy it, he tells himself._

“Trying to **win,** _Kyle,”_ he says as he flicks his wrist and tosses the yellow ball up the black of the plastic ramp, listening to the loud sound of it rolling all the way until it reaches the end of the track, skating up and falling right into the inner circle one larger than the little protected bullseye in the centre.

“Eh, fuck,” Stan sighs, watching ten golden tickets flow from the dispenser onto the ground but not grabbing them, not yet. That was finale business.

“Lemme try,” Kyle says from beside him, snapping up a ball painted orange and butting in front of Stan, their hips meeting so Stan has to step back with a chuckle.

“Fine, _fucker._ Have at it.”

“I will,” Kyle promises with a focused gaze, leaning down and clearing the ball all the way behind him before swinging forward and letting it go. It flies down the ramp and is flung into the air as it catches the lip, looking like it’s a gutter before its forward velocity miraculously spins it upward, falling into one of the many holes in the backboard.

_Perfect bullseye._

The multicoloured lights around the circular pegs light up as a reward, flashing reds and greens as Kyle smirks at a stunned Stan, a glimmer in his eyes not just from the neon lights all around them.

Thirty tickets, the scoreboard announces behind the machine.

“Oh, that is _not_ fucking fair,” Stan tuts, crossing his arms as Kyle laughs, leaning down to try another one, purple.

“Sure it is, Stan. Skee ball is _all_ _skill!”_

Kyle tosses it down, rolling a little slower this time, but it lands dead centre once again, making him clasp his hands together a second before the machine or reality even registers it so.

 _He’s just that fucking_ **_good._ **

“Gimme a chance!” Stan shouts, pushing Kyle over to stumble to the side so he can try a blue one.

Kyle’s a fit of giggles in his ear as Stan tries to mimic his technique, going low on his haunches, leant forward over the end of the track, hand all the way back, and, **_shoot!_**

_It goes fast, alright._

**_Too_ ** _fast._

 **_“Hahaha!”_ ** Kyle bawls, fingers scrabbling at the waist of his shirt, _“You_ **_fucking_ ** _suck, dude!”_

 _It’s one lonely_ ticket for a gutter ball.

Stan stamps his foot like a petulant child. “Shut up, man! I’m trying my best!”

Kyle laughs, elbowing his way back in front of Stan’s broader frame. “Let the master score you some free tickets,” he winks.

Stan leans on the skee ball ramp to the left, half-heartedly grumbling to himself as Kyle lands bullseye after bullseye, each time a variation of his same old technique.

_Fuckin’ show-off._

Once all ten skee balls are finally out, eight of them dead centre thanks to Kyle, they walk away with a total of 251 tickets. Or, at least, that’s what maths would conclude, because there’s no fucking way they’re counting the spiralling mess that they’re forced to collect from the black polka dot floor.

And a very _peeved_ Stan has to carry it all as they move from the skee ball machines onwards.

 _Punishment for making them move from such a goldmine,_ Kyle says.

Passing by the many games, overwhelming in their number, they come across the rest of their friends at the jump rope.

It’s not really an _actual_ jump rope, of course. It’s just a machine with a screen dictating it so, a black raised platform on the bottom and a large oval of lights framing it all, red coursing through the electronics from the floor, up the left side, over the top, down the right, and then everything _shakes_ when Cartman barely lifts his legs up and down to avoid the red that lights up the platform beneath his feet.

“Jesus, Cartman!” Kenny yells behind him. “Let’s not bring the mall down, now!”

“Sh- _hut_ up,” Cartman huffs, “fat jokes get old _real_ quick and I read that this fucking thing was, _hah,_ good for… r-racking up tickets!”

Kenny leans over the jump rope machine just as Cartman is a millisecond too slow for the bar of light, the electronic declaring the game over and spitting out a measly sum of tickets into the air.

“You fucked me up, you fucking guttersnipe!”

“Guttersnipe? What year is it, 1950?” Kenny says as Cartman steps off of the platform.

“Well _you_ fucking try, you bony piece of white trash!”

Kenny clicks his tongue, moving forward to inspect the machine. “How’s this thing work?”

Cartman scoffs. “Isn’t it obvious? Or did that malnutrition from your childhood make a few holes in your brain?”

“Do you actually have to _use it?”_

“Well sure you do, Kenny,” Butters says from the side, tilting his head. His eyes go wide as he says with eerie practice, _“Otherwise, it’s cheating, and cheating is lying, and liars go to hell…”_

“Been there, done that,” Kenny half-jokes, squatting down till his rear meets his shins, reaching up with only his arm to slide a couple tokens into the coin slot while Cartman rips his hard-earned tickets away righteously.

“What you doing, scrounging for money, peasant?”

Kenny slaps the glass of the machine’s monitor to make it play, then presses down with both hands onto the platform until he feels it go down. “Nope. But I _am_ about to watch Groundhog Day, _every fucking day.”_

 _And yes, just because Cartman_ **_hated_ ** _that fucking movie._

They all watch in awe as the game starts up, going slow at first until it reaches the end, Kenny just lifting his hand until the red clears quickly and then pressing back down.

The machine registers it as a jump, badly-conceived thing that it is.

Cartman turns on his heel, huffing, “I’m gonna go tell the _em-ploy-ees!”_

Kenny just chuckles, increasing the speed of his hand as the game gets faster, until it’s physically impossible to move his hand, let alone for a person to jump their entire body.

The jump rope machine says it’s over and out come tickets in the hundreds.

“Oh,” Stan groans, “That is fucking bullshit.”

Kenny looks up, noticing the couple standing there for the first time. “Oh, hey!” he says as he pulls the tickets still spilling from the side, “You two make up already?”

Kyle’s face sours a little.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a hesitant ‘no’. But the night is still young, there are many more opportunities to be had, so get a move on!”

The two begin to walk off when Kenny suddenly _yanks_ Kyle by the shoulder, keeping him from following his friend further into the vibrant bowels of the arcade.

_“Fucking ow, Kenny–”_

_“Kyle,”_ Kenny snaps, whirling the boy to face him fully, staring right down into his face as Butters is oblivious behind them, trying to replicate Kenny’s trick and… _not really succeeding._

Kyle rolls his eyes. _“What?”_ He folds his arms despite Kenny’s claws digging into his shoulders, muttering, “I’m trying my fucking best, dude. It’s just… _hard.”_

Kenny nods. “Yeah, I bet it is. But he’s the guy _you_ chose to have a **_hard_ ** _-on_ for, so you’re gonna have to **_suck_ ** _it up.”_

Kyle grimaces at the horrid pun.

Kenny smiles instead, softening his expression as well as his handhold. “You wanna fuck him, Kyle—or, I guess, maybe, get fucked?” Kyle frowns. “Okay, either way, _you have to get along with him, whether you like it right now or not._ So just don’t think about it too much! Stan’s a simple creature like most young men, simple things like simple pleasures, so just get him excited. Not like _that,_ though, you whore, there'll be _plent-ee_ of time for that _later.”_

Kenny moves his hands off Kyle's slight shoulders, winking at him and stepping back cooly. “Just have fun, dude. Just like you used to.”

And so Kyle finally walks off, hearing Cartman whine behind him to a bored Ivan about apparent rigging to a bewildered Butters.

 _Like_ **_anyone_ ** _gave a flying fuck._

Over by the arcade machines Stan’s just standing there, still overthinking which one to choose.

So Kyle strides up to him, forcing an easy smile to his face as he waves for Stan to follow like the obedient little dog he is. “You wanna play some pinball?”

“Pinball?”

After a few feet, Kyle stops suddenly, making Stan slam into his back and huff an apology. Kyle doesn’t care, just slaps his hand down on the hard glass of a machine to his side. _“This.”_

Stan turns, looks to it.

It’s an authentic machine from the 1980s—placard says so—decked out in a space theme with plenty of aliens and guns and strobing lights, intricately done illustrations on the flooring and all over the sides, pixel art on the monochrome LED screen of orange above it animating a few frames before repeating, flashing the corny name and its cost of 50 cents.

A pretty thing, for sure.

Stan furrows his brows. “You sure about this? Isn’t it mostly just _luck?”_

Kyle nods, already loading some tokens in it so the other boy can’t complain. “Oh, sure. It’ll be fun, don’t worry.”

With two tokens and a press of the start button on the left, the screen changes, playing a cute little intro animation and then telling them to play.

Kyle takes the helm at the centre, right hand over the button. Stan drops his precious bundle of gold paper, letting it fall into a leafy pile on the floor.

“Shoot it, Stan,” Kyle breathes, looking expectantly to his friend with a light grin.

Stan searches for a moment before remembering how the fuck actual pinball machines work, finding the spring and pulling it back as far as he can, surprisingly strong near the end of its cord, and then letting it spring back. The little metal ball within flies up and out of the rounded track it’s stuck in, then free to run from bumper to bumper and steadily increase their points into the thousands already.

There are a couple pairs of flippers within the machine, so Kyle presses the button to make the ball stay up in the air well enough, but inevitably it comes crashing down.

“Tilt it!”

_“Tilt it?”_

“Yeah, nudge the machine, Stan!” Kyle says excitedly, grabbing the other corner of the plastic thing to do his best at shaking it to the right. The incline of it isn’t so steep it keeps the ball from being truly resistant to the movement, and with Stan’s further insistence, his superior strength and dual free hands, it makes it easy to follow Kyle in moving the rolling metal to the side and away from the hole in the middle.

It hits a bumper and flings all the way up to the top, hitting a small button that nets them 1000 points instantly. Stan’s eyes light up as he realizes by a decal that every 100 points is 1 ticket. Fucking piece of God damned cake.

They keep harassing the machine, Kyle hitting the flippers at just the right time, even getting it stuck in the corner so he could patiently let it slide before flicking it up and off into space—or so the LED said anyway—Kyle calling out directions and Stan pushing or pulling to meet the demand.

At some point as he lifts the thing to make the incline further lessened at Kyle’s command, he worries he might break this thing which is probably worth tens of thousands at least, but finds he's too caught in the intense moment to really care.

They eventually lose the ball, but only after they’ve scored well over 30,000 points. 300 tickets and counting spill out onto the ground already littered with them from their prior collection.

“This is _way_ better than skee ball,” Stan sighs as he pulls the spring.

“I’ll say!” Kyle giggles, hitting the bumper at the last second to fling the sphere far upward. It falls into a hole and, Jesus, it spits out _three more_ to replace it. Fucking _multishot, how amazing was this fucking thing!_

The minutes pass as they chuckle and chat a bit over the 8-bit sounds and music the pinball machine makes, losing the second ball and onto their last but uncaring, having a blast together for the first time in months.

_And the 80,000 points was pretty nice, too._

They keep the last ball in play for a good, long while, rattling the machine to its very aluminium core, the points growing and growing as they fall into a rhythm where Kyle doesn’t even have to direct Stan anymore, they both just somehow _know._

And so when they inevitably lose, they have 156,000 points.

 **_“Congratulations!”_ ** the screen spells out in a fancy font, some 80s-style art showing the buff hero rescuing the dame from aliens who they _assume_ would be painted green if not for the limitations of the tech.

The tickets stream from the machine with a whir into a spiral onto the ground. And it just keeps fucking coming. And coming. And comin– _this sounds kinda sexual, doesn't it?_

 _Panting from having to lift the heavy machine, breaths catching in their throats as physical exertion mixes with the euphoria of victory, blushes on their cheeks from blood-fuelled adrenaline, none of it fucking helps the whole_ **_sexual_ ** _thing._

 ** _“Oh, Kyle!”_** Stan yells with glee, completely ignorant of the charged undertones, “I think we fucking _won!”_

**_“We?”_ **

“Sure!” Stan says before biting his lip, turning to look at him in his face flushed with apparent adrenaline. “U-unless, _you don’t want to…”_

Kyle lights up, all smiles and snickers as he shakes his red curls and says, “No, Stan. I do! It’s just I… I don’t know, I thought _you_ wouldn’t want to, for, for some reason…”

Stan cups Kyle’s smaller shoulder, grinning back at him. “Of course I would, buddy. We’re SBFFs, remember? I would never give you up for _anything in the entire world,_ **_trust m–”_ **

**_“Hey there Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”_ **

The noise makes Kyle _instinctively frown._

Stan about jumps out of his skin, reaching down into his pockets where his phone is vibrating enough to numb his leg.

He looks down at the lit screen, blinding his eyes with black and blue light, a girl in purple searing into his vision.

 _“Wendy,”_ Kyle says more than asks.

“Y-yeah,” Stan answers anyway.

There’s a pause as **_“I’m a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty,”_** sings from over his phone.

_Fitting now that it was true, but Stan put it on even before because it was one of Wendy’s favourite songs._

They both just stare at each other, blue to green, waiting for Stan to make his next move.

Kyle feels hope surge in his veins at the second-long hesitation. Had Stan finally got it? That Wendy was nothing special? Just another drop in the bucket? And not even a very good one, at that?

Furthermore, had he _finally got_ **_it?_ **

Had his mind cleared enough to see what _was_ **_really_ ** _going on? What would_ **_really_ ** _make him_ **_happy_ ** _in life?_

Was he now _sober_ and _smart_ enough to connect the dots, remember all the moments in the past when Kyle hugged him just a _little_ too long after a LARP session, tended to his wounds no matter how slight, listened to him cry and whine with a strangely enamoured expression, stayed up _all night_ giggling with him _just because he could?_

 _Maybe, just maybe, after all these_ ** _years,_** Stan now realized _just how much_ Kyle _really fucking_ ** _loved_** him?

But Stan doesn’t even look to see Kyle’s expression of pure disappointment, anger mixed with sorrow, as he brings the black rectangle to his ear, turning to face away from Kyle.

 ** _“Wendy!”_** he immediately shouts with a wide grin, a daze in his glossy eyes that stare beyond the walls somehow.

Kyle leans on the pinball machine, turning his gaze to the floor.

“I've missed you so m–”

Even Kyle can hear the _loud, high-pitched_ ** _screaming_** that abruptly comes from over the speaker on Stan’s phone, making them both wince and Stan pull the thing from his ringing ear.

Wendy’s volume on the other end halfway across the country is so loud that they both can hear it clearly now, even as Stan desperately turns the sound all the way down, it still is barely comprehensible to Kyle feet away from him.

 _“You fucking bastard!”_ her muffled voice yells over the line, rage obvious, _“You overcharged my fucking phone bill with all those nonsensical messages and calls,_ **_Stan fucking Marsh!_ ** _I was fucking freaking out so hard on the subway station I started bawling my_ **_fucking_ ** _eyes out, so the creepy man sitting next to me went so far as to wrap an arm around me to try to_ **_console_ ** _me!”_

She makes a sound of feral anger, a basal heave of breath that goes to show just how uncontrollably pissed she is.

 _“I got a restraining order on him, and listen,_ **_Stan,_ ** _if you try to get in contact with me anyway, anyhow, I don’t care if it’s a call or a text or a fucking_ **_like_ ** _on my Instagram, I’m going to have one put on you,_ **_too!_ ** _My lawyer is right here in this room with me; I could have it happen in_ **_under a day!”_ **

Stan sputters, hardly capable of sound, let alone words, _“W-Wen–”_

 **_“Shut the fuck up, Stan!_ ** _I’m not joking, there are_ **_no_ ** _exceptions from here on out! I hate your fucking guts! Don’t call me, don’t message me,_ **_don’t even fucking look at me!_ ** _You’re a God damned_ **_creep!”_ **

There’s the sound of muffled movement on the mic and then a dead beep as the call ends.

Stan just stares at his phone, expression absolutely unreadable.

Kyle bites his lip anxiously, waiting.

And then Stan crumples to the floor like a fucking toddler, a twenty year old man utterly destroyed as he crashes into a bed of tickets, bursting into the air like confetti around him.

 ** _“Oh, Wendy!”_** he fucking _wails,_ so loud it echoes off of the plaster of the walls, all the machines, ringing in Kyle’s ears that redden with renewed anger.

He stomps away from Stan, so **fucking** frustrated and fed up with his bullshit he wasn’t even going to humour his pathetic sobbing.

Meanwhile, Butters and Kenny look on from behind a claw machine, having seen the _entire_ ordeal carry out, of course.

Butters puts a finger to his lip while Kenny just sighs.

 _“M-maybe I’m n-not a genius after all,”_ Butters mutters, face overcast as Kenny glances to look at it with sympathy, “Just l-like my d-d-dad always said… **_U-use-useless.”_ **

Kenny sets a hard frown on his face, glaring at Stan who’s writhing on a bunch of crinkly paper like a spineless jellyfish. Pretty much had the capacity of one too, at this point.

There was no way he was going to let this fail.

Now it wasn’t just for Kyle’s happiness, it was for Butter’s, too.

And Kenny would show him he _really was a genius._

So he walks over to a crying Stan and puts a hand to his back, rubbing in small circles and feeling the wracking tears rip through his lungs for the first time in days. The tickets also rip, but it’s mostly at the seams so they’re still viable, thank God.

Kenny watches as Stan pulls from the usual spot that good old flask, black as night and gleaming purples and blues.

He sighs but lets him take a sip of it. Just this once. Then he’s done for good.

Kenny’ll slap any alcohol right out of Stan’s hand from then on, no matter if it were a ginger ale or if it were onto Butter’s parents’ rug—actually, _actually,_ maybe not the latter, because Kenny’s pretty sure Butters would _literally_ **_die_ ** _for that one._

He pats Stan on the back hard enough he coughs, forcing the flask away from his mouth and getting some spit and vodka all over his hand.

“Good boy, Stan!” Kenny smiles. “It’s okay, buddy! Breakups are rough, I know, but you’re gonna live, dude.”

Stan shakes his head, tear stains marking all the way down his cheekbones flushed with the rush of alcohol in his bloodstream. “I don’t think so, Kenny, I _really_ don’t think so…”

“Aw, it’s alright!”

“No, it’s **_not!”_** Stan whines, capping the flask and then tossing it to the ground to lay spread eagle on the floor covered in paper, staring at the ceiling. “I can never even **_talk_** to her, Kenny! I will **_never_** see her **_face_** again!” He snaps a glare to Kenny’s patient face. “And maybe that would be perfectly fine to you, but unlike _you,_ I actually _fucking loved_ her past more than her ass. So _you don’t_ really know what heartbreak is like.”

Kenny **forces** a grin, now finally able to empathize with that man-killing rage that Kyle feels all the time about this dumb sack of shit. Why the fuck did Kyle even like this guy, again?

“It’s okay, man,” he **grits** out, hitting his palm against Stan’s knee just a _little_ too hard. “Life goes on, finds a way, and _all_ that **good shit.** So, forget about her! There’s no point in crying over spilled Wendy, _ha ha!”_

Stan just rolls his eyes to the side at Kenny’s strained tone.

So Kenny cuts the shit, wrinkling the mass of tickets and grabbing Stan by the collar of his jacket, pulling him up to face him fully.

 **“Look, dumbass, I’m trying to help you not ruin your fucking life for the next few years. Listen to me, you’ve gotta snap out of it. Be realistic. Are you gonna get Wendy back,** **_ever?_ ** **No, no you’re fucking** **_not._ ** **So shut the fuck up about it and do something** **_productive for once in your miserable fucking life.”_ **

Stan struggles to breathe, Kenny’s rough fingernail digging into his Adam’s apple. The fear in his eyes is almost satisfying to Kenny at this point, on a primal level. _“L-like what?”_

He drops Stan to the ground, letting him slam so just as he gets his breath back, it’s gone as he’s winded with a pained groan.

Kenny wipes his hands of the dirt, smiling naturally once again. “Like going to Kyle’s Hanukkah on the 22nd!”

 _“Oh shit,”_ Stan wheezes, rubbing his head that hit the carpeted floor pretty hard, “that’s almost here already?”

“Yep! _It’s okay that you forgot even though your best friend is a jew and I_ ** _really_** _feel like you should remember what fucking day Hanukkah is by now but,_ it **does** change every year, unlike JC's old birthday! So, _we’ll_ ** _all,”_** he spreads both of his arms behind him, probably gesturing somewhere to the other two non-ginger boys in the arcade eventually, **_“help_** **_you_** **out** in convincing Kyle to let you come to that sacred night! His family might not be psyched at first, but you’re Stan fucking Marsh! Who else would they trust with their **_precious_** _son_ but **_you?”_** Kenny smiles, standing fully now.

“Ah, and Kyle gets _so fucking_ **_bored_ ** that he’ll let almost anyone come over during Hanukkah, eating all that weird food and those old ass games with his tumultuous family… **_if only_ ** _he was_ **_actually allowed_ ** _to bring people over._ So, I’m sure we’ll find _some way_ of making the guy and his parents cave!”

Stan stows away the vodka cartridge again and grunts as he comes to rise on legs now slightly wobbly, and not just for the sea of tickets.

_The vodka was seriously no joke._

“Alright,” Stan says, looking down to see Kenny’s hand outstretched in an invitation for a handshake. Stan takes it with the slightest of smiles. “It’s a deal.”

Kenny grins, making the shake firm. “You got it, Marsh. You’re having a Hanukkah!”

 ** _“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”_** Comes a scream from behind them. **“No, not** ** _more_** **fucking money-grubbing** ** _kikes!”_** He covers his face like it burns with acid, stamping his foot in horror. “They spread like the fucking plague, I swear to _Jesus H. Christ!”_

Stan rolls his eyes, taking his hand back from Kenny and leaning against the pinball machine and–Hey, where did Kyle go?

Kenny simpers a smile to Stan, waving to catch his attention from staring off into the depths of the arcade.

“Be nice to Kyle, okay? You don’t even know how much you mean to him.”

Stan blinks. _What the fuck does that sappy shit mean?_

Kenny laughs nervously, Stan’s blessed naïvety and intoxication making it slip unnoticed as he pats Stan on the shoulder and then turns on his heel. _“I mean, you are super best friends after all!”_

Oh, okay. That makes sense.

So Stan collects the ruined tickets on the ground and seeks out Kyle, finds him glaring at a balloon popping game motionlessly. He carefully tiptoes behind the redhead and drops the tickets in a hushed rustle of paper, sprinting the fuck away afterward.

“Alright!” shouts Clarissa from the counter, “It’s ten till ten everyone, please finish your games and convert your tickets into points, pick your prizes and enjoy the rest of your _wonderful_ night!”

*****

Stan leaves with absolutely nothing and so is the one designated to carry the giant plush Santa bear Kenny and Butters pooled together to get. Cartman got a bunch of candy, go figure. Good thing he didn’t win much in the end, too busy bitching about cheaters and thieves and Jews.

_And Kyle, Kyle gave all of his hundreds of tickets away to some of those kids._

Which _doesn’t_ make sense to Stan, because they were annoying as fuck when it came time to go home, sobbing and consoled only by the bribery of shitty prizes.

_But… it’s also kind of nice of him._

**_Really_ **nice, actually.

Was it… **_cute?_ **

Stan couldn’t help but think so at that moment, with the way his friend had acted, passing the long line of tickets to some bright-eyed ten-year-old.

Flush to his cheeks, smile in his eyes, as he did such a selfless thing.

**_Selfless._ **

_That’s what Kyle was, wasn’t he?_

_Huh._

Oh, and Kyle also won the movie thing, mostly because Cartman realized it would otherwise be Butters’ win, and so decided counting the tickets as his despite the act of goodwill was therefore _suddenly okay._

So that was cool.

As he settles into his car and throws the oversized animal to a Butters in the back seat, he can’t help but grin even as the car creaks as Cartman’s fat ass comes to struggle into it right next to him.

_Kyle still not ready to call shotgun as they’d always done before, it seemed._

But that’s alright, because he’s down to watch Pixar movies all week.

He adjusts the mirror above him after he turns on the heat.

Not to fix it before he reverses, no, but to angle it so it points at the ginger staring distantly out the frosted window.

It was a definite safety hazard but he’ll risk it this time.

_Because everything just seemed really nice for some reason, at that moment._

_Even as his green eyes look vacantly away, thoughts unreadable, twinkling under the yellowed street lights, clearly still angry with him from his crossed arms, Stan’s filled with something strange he hasn’t felt in a long time._

_A certain joy, like faith, but not quite as blind._

**_Hope._ **

_For the future._

_… Whatever that may be,_ **_exactly._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
> _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Don’t tilt pinball machines btw it breaks them._
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that! T’was pretty fun to write for some reason! 
> 
> Next chapter is Sunday, the 22nd. I feel like these updates are maybe a bit too frequent and it should be more like once a week, but nothing I can do about that now since the dates are tied! Looking forward to it anyway! <3


	3. The Dreidel Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stan had **fucking ruined Hanukkah.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Alright, here is some porn at the end! … I forgot to mention it’s softcore porn, but oh well, it’s porn anyway!

_December 21st, 2019 - Saturday_

Up, Monsters Inc, and the entire series of Toy Story later, Kyle is _still_ being a total stick in the mud.

 _“Come on!”_ Butters pleads, hands clasped in a trembling temple.

“No.”

“Oh, Kyle…” Cartman forces himself to mutter over bribery in the form of an expertly made omelette—Kenny _can_ cook, he’ll give him that, “Come on, just let the new Jew recruit get on with your Chanukkah thing or whatever…”

“Definitely not.”

 _“Please?”_ Butters does his best puppy dog eyes.

Kyle folds his arms, shaking his head furtively, somehow managing to resist.

“Nope.”

Kenny glares at him, but says nothing as Stan returns to his bedroom, screaming over his shoulder at Shelly harassing him.

It’s only when the two boys whose names coincidentally begin with K find themselves alone whilst loitering in a clothes store that Kenny can finally begin the real breakthrough, only _one_ day before the first night of Hanukkah begins.

He’s desperate, willing to try anything.

_Even if it means playing dirty._

So he saunters over to Kyle, hooking an arm around his collarbone and interrupting his frowning at some hideous winter sweaters.

“No,” Kyle says automatically, slapping at the hands that pin upon his chest.

 _“Heyyy!”_ Kenny breathes easily, squeezing Kyle in an uncomfortable hug from the side until his lungs make a wheezing sound, the poor asthmatic.

 _“Bah,”_ Kyle exhales when he finally lets off a bit, _“What in the_ **_world_ ** _do you_ **_want,_ ** _Kenny?”_

 _“Kyle, Kyle, Kyle,”_ Kenny tuts, propping an elbow on the guy’s bony shoulder, just tall enough to fit his head into his hand. “Think of what you’re doing, buddy. Stan really wants to come over, you know that?”

Kyle puffs. “Then why doesn’t he say so himself? You guys need to quit getting my hopes up. It’s obvious he doesn’t fucking like me…” Kyle trails off in a shaky breath, glancing to the walls. _“And he’s a piece of shit anyway…_ ”

Kenny spins Kyle around by his arms, pinning him down to stare at him with an expression made of pure pity. “No, that’s not true at all, dude! I mean, the piece of shit thing maybe, but he _does_ like you. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

That just serves to make Kyle further pissed, huffing a sarcastic laugh. _“Yeah, okay… He hasn’t 'known it' for over_ ** _two years_** _now. Just doesn’t know how to show it,_ ** _right?_** **_That’s_** _why there’s_ ** _no_** _sign of him thinking of me_ ** _as anything more than you guys!_** **Ah, it all makes sense now!”**

He half-heartedly throws a punch at one of Kenny’s hands, sighing, “Just let it go, Kenny. We’ll be friends, just like we always have… He’ll get over her… We’ll all move on with our _fucking lives…”_

Kenny can’t help but frown instinctively at the way Kyle’s breath catches on the last couple words.

“But is that _really_ what you want, Kyle? To just let this go, live with knowing for the rest of your entire life that you didn’t even try? That you didn’t even ask him to see what he’d think? _Didn’t even get the chance to know what might happen?”_

Kyle stares at the rack of pastel clothes on the wall, unblinking, eyes growing glossier by the second.

 _“Some people regret the things they do, but more people regret the things they_ **_didn’t_ ** _do. Trust me, buddy. A life lived in fear is hardly lived at all.”_

Kyle shakes his head, just barely enough to move his hair in the breeze made by it. _“You looked those quotes up, didn’t you?”_

Kenny smiles. “You _bet_ I did. And I didn’t even _try_ to memorize them correctly.”

Kyle groans, squinting his eyes shut. “Oh, you can’t do this to me, man. You know I’m a sucker for inspirational shit…”

“Mhm. So, did it work?”

Kyle deflates with a heavy breath, eyes opening only to stare at the wood of the floor. “I don’t know yet…”

Kenny tilts his head, looking down at him. “Remember all those times, back in high school?”

_“Don’t fucking remind me–”_

“Seriously, man! All those hopelessly romantic ideals, the dreams and ideas we shared together, all in order to just try to get the guy to show maybe a shred of interest in you?”

Red hair bunches up as he presses it against the wall behind him, face messed up. _“Whyyy…”_

“It’s okay! I know it’s embarrassing, trust me, there’s a ton of shit I regret from high school, and middle school, and elementary, and a few days ago… But that’s alright!”

He shakes Kyle’s arm until he’s irritated enough to open his eyes, looking into blue ones annoyingly bright, _sparkly somehow._

_Like he was a fucking princess again._

“Think of how _you_ felt then. How scary everything seemed, how hopeless.”

Kyle huffs. _“Really motivational, Kenny.”_

He just continues anyway, “How it would never fucking happen in a million years, it seemed. Don’t you remember what you would always say?”

“That he’d never… love me?”

“Well, yeah, that was one.” Kenny cringes, but manages to laugh it off. “But I meant the other thing! _The one about… her?”_

Kyle stares at him, but it’s distant. Like he’s staring through him, beyond what’s real, and he breathes out, _“That he’d never break up with her. That he’d always be with her…”_

Kyle’s mouth twitches, but it can’t decide between a smile or a frown as he says, **_“Love her.”_ **

Kenny nods, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah, dude. And look, a true Christmas miracle. _He isn’t with her anymore.”_

“So…”

 _“So…”_ Kenny grins.

“So what?”

The mood is instantly ruined, Kyle bristling up into an upright posture.

“That doesn’t mean he’ll automatically get with me. That’s fucking romcom-level shit. Never fucking actually happens.”

Kenny frowns, but keeps his hopes up, digging in, “Well then, maybe you should try something a little higher than ‘romcom-level shit’. Maybe something less cliché, _or more, I don’t know…”_

“Can you stop speaking in tongues and just get to the point?”

“Do something he’ll really like. Something exceptional, that he’ll never be able to forget.”

 _Kyle really does_ **_not_ ** _like where this is going._

Kenny pats Kyle’s shoulder, grinning as he says, “Like, _just_ **_imagine_ ** _how good it will feel when he grabs you by your waist, pulls you into a kiss straight out of the movies…_ and then only after you get married, of course, _how_ **_good_ ** _it will feel when you two are on your wedding bed and he crawls on top of you, undoes his belt, grabs you by your legs, makes you say his name–”_

**_“Stan!”_ **

Kenny nods blindly, sneering. “Yeah, just like tha– **_Oh, hey!_ ** **Stan!”**

 _And thank_ ** _fucking God,_** Kyle thinks as Kenny takes a couple instantaneous, long strides away from him, hands to his sides like nothing’s amiss as Stan appears out of fucking nowhere from behind a clothes rack.

 _Kyle was beginning to_ **_really_ ** _want to melt into the floor there, at the end._

“Hey,” Stan smiles, oblivious. “Do you like this shirt, or this one?”

He holds up two plain collared tees, one a pale red, the other a deep purple. Such a boring selection, they’re just fucking shirts.

“On you?” Kyle tries for an easy grin anyway.

“Oh, yeah, ‘course.” He brings either up to his neck, waiting a second before changing to the next.

“Mm,” Kenny hums with a smirk, _“definitely_ the red. Fits your complexion a lot better. Makes you _glow,_ actually.”

Stan frowns a bit. “Glowing a good thing, I guess?”

“Oh, definitely, dude! You know, I know favourite colours are supposed to be _‘subjective opinions’,”_ he makes hard air quotes and a dumb voice, “but red’s definitely got a lot of things going for it, if you know what I mean." _Cheeky wink._ "Gets your blood pumping, an instinctual reaction, because _it’s the colour of_ **_blood_ ** _after all,_ **_hahaha!”_ **

“Ummm, _okay… I just… wanted to pick a shirt, but, uh, thanks, I guess, eh, Kenny…”_

Suddenly:

_"Hey, Stan."_

At Kyle's oddly warm tone, said guy looks up, absolutely alert. Almost fearful, to be honest, after the constant badgering and “assistance” from all of his friends.

Stan clears his throat.

_"Yeah?"_

Kyle smiles a little. "You can come to my Hanukkah tomorrow night. Eight sharp, remember."

Stan literally _gasps_ an entire lungful of breath, sputtering as Kenny does a little jig behind Kyle until he turns, going back to nonchalantly leaning on a pole.

Stan grins ear to ear, "You got it, dude! I _promise_ I won't be late, not for anything in the _entire world!"_

Kyle giggles, hand over his mouth. Stan just assumes it’s from his unhinged excitement, but really Kyle feels kinda like a girl who just got invited to prom. "Uh-huh. See you then."

Stan walks away _on air,_ looking back and blurting all the while, _"Thank you, thank you, thank you,_ oh God, _yes, Kyle, bahaha!"_

Kyle waves him off, chuckling.

"Well, well, well," Kenny says beside him, partly muffled by his arm as he holds it against the support, "looks like you got yourself a date after all."

Kyle heaves a great sigh. “You try _way_ too hard, man.”

“You don’t try _hard enough,_ **_buddy.”_ **

Kyle walks out of the aisle, but only after digging a pointed nail into Kenny’s worn-down sweatshirt. “Well, **_pal,_** I’ll have _you_ know _I definitely am_ ** _not_** gonna wait until fucking marriage.”

“Oh,” Kenny breathes, seeming surprised before he recovers and claps his hands together, falling in line a little ways behind Kyle as he snickers.

“Well then, that will make things a helluva lot easier for us, Broflovski!”

“ ‘M not a slut, though,” Kyle says, walking on through the store aimlessly before Kenny steps in front and takes the lead.

 _“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”_ Kenny laughs darkly, moving straight to the **_costume_ ** _section of all fucking places in the huge store._

 _It sends a chill up Kyle’s spine,_ **_for some_ ** **damned** **_reason._ **

But he trails him anyway.

_Nothing better to do, at least._

*****

 ** _“Oh, hello, Stan!”_** Mrs Broflovski calls in an American Jew– _errr,_ ** _New Yorkian accent!_** the sheer excitement obvious in her mature voice, “Aw, I haven’t seen you in _forever, hun!_ Look at how much _you’ve_ _grown!”_

Stan laughs politely, bundling his gloved fingers together on the porch. “Saw you last winter, Mrs Broflovski! Haven’t grown a millimetre since, swear!”

She tuts, putting hands to her hips in a faux-offended manner. “Well, Mr Marsh, there will be **_no swearing_ ** in this household, _I’ll have you know!”_

He chuckles sincerely at that one while she waves him in with an oven mitt still on her hand. “Oh, come in, come in, it’s _freezing_ out there!”

So he steps into the entrance room, immediately feeling his skin flush with welcome warmth, stomping on the mat beneath him to rid himself of the snow of last night. He looks down with a startle, sighing in relief as it’s still there. Muscle memory stronger than common sense in him, it appears, but he’s safe for now.

Mrs Broflovski laughs politely as she shuts the door behind him, her hair still done up in that familiar loaf as ever, only a few grey hairs beginning in it near the base, not there the previous year, but Stan doesn’t look past a glance. Rude.

“So glad to have you over for Hanukkah this year, Stan! It is a very sacred tradition, especially on the first night, but we’ll gladly invite you so long as you show us due diligence.”

He nods, snapping his gloves off and tucking them into his coat pockets as he says, “Oh, of course, ma’am. I would never do _anything_ to disrespect the holiday. It might not be mine, but I know it means a lot to a lot of people, so I’m happy to just sit back and watch peacefully.”

Mrs Broflovski smiles, pinches his cheek with her oven mitt for a half second and then moves on. “Oh, Stan, you need not be so formal, _really._ I am delighted by it, but it’s not sacrilege to laugh a bit. Hanukkah’s all about celebrating Judaism and its rich history, so it needn’t be so stoic; even **_I_ ** think that, and Kyle says **_I’m_ ** _uptight about religion!”_

She cackles but Stan isn’t so sure, so just nervously laughs.

 _She could be surprisingly over-cumbersome when she_ **_really_ ** _wanted to, if memory served properly._

But then again, that was years ago… so, maybe things had changed?

He follows her from the small entrance room that would normally be spilling with light at any other time than the dead of winter, made pitch but for the floral-looking ceiling light.

She shoulders the door open and lets him pass through before her, giving him a sparkling grin and eyes filled with something like pride before flicking the light off, closing the door as Stan enters the living room.

It’s spacious, floor dark, polished cherrywood, furniture of muted tans and browns facing a large television, a crackling fireplace going on next to it with a fur beanbag by that.

To the far end of the main sitting area is a table, positively gleaming under the yellow lamps, in perfect condition even from afar.

Atop it is the trusty menorah, eight rounded columns all aligning above the base in a straight line but for the ninth one at the very centre, coming a little further up and standing above the rest.

There are no candles in it for now, but by the looks of a small velvet bag right under the table, there may be some soon.

“You joined us just in time, Stan.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, lighting the menorah takes place around sundown. Today it’ll be at 7:15.” They glance to the wall clock ticking steadily above the fireplace. Just fifteen minutes until then, _Jesus!_ **_Er–_ **

“Oh,” Stan says, turning around to face Mrs Broflovski. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was cutting it so close!”

She shakes her head, mussing up her face. “No, no, it’s _fine,_ really, hun. No problem. Like I said, it’s not that big a deal We wouldn’t have minded _that much_ if you came mid-recital!”

She waves at the coat rack behind her as she walks a bit forward, leaving Stan to removes his coat and sling it up on an empty peg. “Recital?”

She chuckles. “Oh, yes. Especially on the first night, we must recite traditional blessings in both Hebrew and in English after lighting the candles.”

Hm, Stan thinks as he steps off his shoes. Didn’t know that one. He guesses he doesn’t know much about Hanukkah, after all.

“Anyhow, Kyle’s in the kitchen helping me finish up the latkes and sufganiyot.”

_“The wha?”_

She laughs, leading him down the hall to the right and swinging open the kitchen door. “Fried potato pancakes and strawberry jelly doughnuts, basically. There’s also brisket slow-cooking, some noodle kugel, _and_ babka for later! Perhaps a _bit_ overboard, but it's meant to last eight days, of course!”

Hm. Well, Stan always liked a good honey glazed ham on Christmas day, but that all sounded pretty damn tempting… _And_ they got to eat all this for eight days, not just one? _Not fair._

“Like the shirt, by the way. Red's good on you,” she winks.

Mrs Broflovski walks out of the doorway to the oven, letting Stan take in the kitchen for the first time in a long time. Large and spacious, marble counters a plenty a glossy white under the warm lights.

And there's Kyle, standing near the stove, turning to face him with a frying pan and plate in hands. His eyes go wide at the sight of Stan, both of them glancing down to his waist at the same time a delicious smell fills the air from Kyle's mother opening the oven door.

A frilly white apron, one of the full-body ones going up to the chest and down to the knee, spotless and bordered with lace.

 _It's almost…_ **_girly._**

 _But the mouth-watering aroma of savoury, sweet, and spices cooked to perfection mingles with the startling sight, burning its rightful spot into Stan's memory_ **_forever._ **

_He's not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, nor what it means at all for him, but now all he knows is that_ **_he's fucking hungry._ **

**_“St-Stan!”_ ** Kyle gasps, barely turning on his pale heel to put the hot plates back onto the stove top and counter adjacent.

_“Kyle!”_

His friend looks to his mother and says with a honeyed voice, “Hey, mom, can I, uh, talk to my friend out in the hall for a minute?”

Sheila nods. “Oh, of course, Kyle!” she exclaims, pulling from the oven some yellow casserole-looking dish in a shallow glass container. It smells heavenly, sweet and cinnamony.

Stan has no fucking clue what it even is, but he wants to eat all of it, _immediately._

“Thanks, mom!” Kyle calls behind him as he turns to shove Stan out the kitchen door, closing it firmly shut behind him as his kind grin turns to a scowl instantly as the light disappears.

 _“What the_ ** _fuck_** _are you doing here an entire_ ** _hour early?”_** he shout-whispers, waving a finger violently at Stan as his eyes fill with rage.

Stan puts his hands up, backing into the other wall of the dim hallway and Kyle follows him. “Wh-what?! I couldn’t wait, I could hardly sleep last night, ‘cause this is _the first Hanukkah_ I’ll actually be seeing in its _entirety!”_

Kyle literally _growls,_ red curly locks framing his face shaking wildly into his eyes as he spits, _“That’s the fucking point,_ **_dumbass!_ ** You’re not _supposed_ to see it all!”

 _“Wh… b-but_ ** _why?!”_** Oh **God,** Stan _knew_ it, _this was all some set up to consume the souls of the innocent! Cartman was right all along!_

Kyle just shakes his head at Stan’s trembling, folding his arms and reminding Stan of the lovely lacey apron over his chest. _Heh._

“Because, it’s **_fucking_** **boring,** dude. I don’t want people to see how God damn **_dumb_** Hanukkah really is, let alone _you,_ my best friend in the entire world who doesn’t know how lame this is compared to _Christmas…”_

Stan extends his hands, palm up. _“What? That’s it?”_ He wouldn’t need to call an exorcist, after all! “Oh, Kyle, **I don’t care!** I wanna see what it’s like, even if it’s a bit dull, it’s nothing I haven’t experienced at Bible camp a million freaking times! Do you even _know_ how many plays I’ve seen of Noah’s dumb fricking Ark?”

His friend heaves a heavy sigh, but uncrosses his arms to instead grip the apron at its thin laces to the sides, wrists to his hips as he whispers, _“Okay. Fine._ But you also weren’t supposed to see me in…" he shifts his body side to side, to stress the apron Stan guesses but getting his gaze caught on the way it flows over his legs instead _for_ **_some_ ** _reason,_ **_"this…”_ **

Stan clears his throat, chuckles. “Oh, _heh,_ yeah. What’s that **_for,_ **anyway?”

“It's mine. And I wear it. When I cook. Just not when you’re here. _For obvious reasons.”_ Stan’s mouth falls open just before Kyle turns, hand on the worn knob to the kitchen. “Makes clean up easier. _Because, believe it or not, I_ **_can_ ** _get_ **_really_ ** _dirty sometimes…”_

_Mm…_

_Well…_

Stan _does_ **_want_ ** to just fucking blurt out, _“Why a long, lacey white one, though?”_ but _barely_ manages to bite his tongue so he doesn't have to get carried out of the house when Kyle inevitably knocks him unconscious for such a _stupid_ **_fucking_ ** _question._

So instead, they just come back into the kitchen, all innocuous smiles.

“Oh, what did you talk about?” Sheila asks pleasantly, moving from casserole to fryer to slow cooker in an instant.

Kyle laughs easily enough. “Oh, just some stuff about Hanukkah.” Kyle looks back to his friend with a smile just a little too high, eyes going heavy and a glint in them as he says, **_“He really wants_** **_to know a lot about it,_** _y’know?”_

 _“Oh!”_ Sheila gasps, stopping her constant movement to snap her attention right to Stan, and that’s when the guy knows he’s _fucked._ **“Do you really, Stan?!”**

_“Uhh–”_

**“Oh my** **_goodness!_** I can tell you _all_ about the history of our people, way back to the very beginning, the traditions, the foods, the culture!”

She claps her hands in pure giddy, this moment the best of her life for entire years.

And the very worst of Stan’s.

“Many people think Judaism a bore, but it’s _really quite exciting_ when you get down to the details! So many stories to be told, oh, I can barely not tell them _all_ right now!”

Her eyes glance wildly to the clock above them, just as Stan can barely suppress a frown

So _this_ was his punishment for disobeying Kyle’s explicit orders.

Kyle just grins lazily at Stan, letting his wonderful mother do all the work.

“Oh, what the hay, it’s five minutes till, so let me give you a _quick_ version of the story as to why we light the menorah, Stan!”

Stan takes a comfortable position leaning ever-so-slightly against the counter as Sheila begins rambling, Kyle deftly putting in some earplugs under his hair which hides all, and getting to work on the doughnuts.

_Oh God in heaven, whatever He may be._

**_This was gonna be a long fucking Hanukkah._ **

*****

Four minutes of pure hell later, Stan emerges from the kitchen barely conscious behind an apron-less Kyle and his mother _still_ prattling on.

He leans over to Kyle who’s taking out his earplugs with a happy sigh, Sheila too caught up in her own words to notice as he whispers to his friend, “Fuck. You.”

Kyle grins.

That _was_ the plan, eventually, after all.

This whole torture thing wasn’t _really_ part of the overall plan, but it _was_ funny, so Kyle did it anyway.

But Stan did end up surviving in the end, if just squeaking out. So he follows Kyle and his mother to sit in a semi-circle half a room back from the polished table with the empty menorah atop it, Sheila’s words deafened by his brain which is utterly exhausted of the trials and tribulations of Israelites.

“Now,” Kyle whispers to Stan beside him over the white noise of his mom, “this is the most important part, pretty much. So just be quiet. You _can_ do that, right?”

Stan nods. “Oh, yeah.” He wriggles his fingers before him, feeling renewed energy as he hears doors opening and footfalls coming on the halls in the distance, “Ah, Kyle, I’m excited, I think!”

Kyle rolls his eyes to the ceiling before letting them fall back down to his friend’s flushed face. “Not for long, buddy. This takes _way_ too long, trust me.”

His father appears from the doorway, behind him his kid brother, Ike. Same as Sheila, Gerald is dressed up in somewhat formal attire, a dress shirt and nice pants, but seems unperturbed by his children’s unwillingness to follow such a rule. So long as they don’t wear shorts, he supposes.

_Really, he’s just glad they haven’t been entirely stolen over by Christmas yet._

Kyle’s father walks in front of them to the menorah, throwing Stan a, “Hello there. What’s been going on, Stanley?”

The guest shrugs, cross-legged but feeling awfully weird despite Kyle doing just the same right next to him. “Nothing much. College is good.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, just hitting a few bumps in the road right now… but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“Aw,” Gerald sympathizes, pulling up the velvet bag from the floor. “Relationships sure are hard at your age, I know.”

**_Oh._ **

_He must have heard that from Kyle… Bit awkward, but…_

“Oh, yeah. But you know,” Stan waves his hand, “water under the bridge.”

“That’s the spirit! Hah, with that, _I think–”_

Kyle’s stomach drops, his family’s eyes wide, but it’s too late, Gerald’s traitorous lips already moving:

 **_“Kyle might have_ ** **cried** **_more than you did!”_ **

The room goes **completely silent.**

Gerald turns, a few candles in hand as he says, “What? Did I do something wrong?”

 _“Yeah, honey,”_ his wife seethes through a false smile, _“You did something wrong._ But that’s okay. We’ll just talk about it **_later.”_ **

Stan can’t even look at Kyle out of the corner of his eye, stare just glued to the menorah before them.

Ike to the right of him makes a choked cough, but he again can’t stand to even glance.

_Kyle…_

**_Cried?_ **

That _couldn’t possibly be right…_

It must have been… _a dad joke._

Yeah, _a dad joke!_ Just a silly little thing!

He probably just meant Kyle whined a bit about it, about Stan’s drunkenness. _Whew, yeah, he sure was a drunken mess back then. Haha, sure was a great thing he wasn’t anymore!_

That’s what Stan has to tell himself to not run out the door right then and there.

“Anyway!” Sheila calls. “Go ahead with the menorah lighting, Gerald. It’s already,” a glance to the clock which Stan nor Kyle can’t see, too concerned with staring past space, “7:15! Better hop to it, then, ha!”

So with just a bit of a frown, Kyle’s dad turns back to the table and begins arranging the candles, two in hand before he sets the bag back upon the ground.

Stan should really be a lot more focused on this, but right now it feels like a blur, something he can’t really enjoy even as he watches him stick a candle into the highest holder.

 _Because he’s too busy now watching out of his peripherals Kyle’s face go beet red, turning slightly away from Stan and to his mother, downturn in either sadness or shame, Stan can’t tell for being unwilling to actually_ **_look._ **

He hardly even registers as Mr Broflovski takes the remaining candle in his hand and places it in the rightmost holder of the menorah.

 **_Kyle looks so_ ** **sad.**

He takes a lighter and creates a flame on the upper candle. Kyle knows it’s called shamash but Stan doesn’t. Kyle, of course, is way too out of it to even begin to want to explain it to him.

His father takes the topmost candle and brings it to the lower one, taking a breath and then steadily spewing words forth in Hebrew.

Kyle understands all of the words by heart, having heard this speech nearly a hundred times throughout his life by this point.

Stan catches maybe “Hanukkah” and that’s about it.

“Amen,” everyone but Stan says, even if quiet, shaky.

_Oops._

Gerald then clears his throat and repeats from memory the same thing in English now, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light.”

It sounds a lot less cool in English, Stan must admit.

“Amen,” he remembers to say this time. But it feels… off. Not right, as his mind is only half on the ceremony.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

“Amen.”

He pauses and Stan thinks he’s going to bring the haughty flame finally to the other wick, but instead he speaks in Hebrew once again. The first few words are the same, but after that it trails off into mere sounds to Stan’s uninitiated ears.

His head still pounds, so bothered by the thought of Kyle fucking… _crying…_ that he can’t enjoy this at all.

“Amen,” to whatever in the world Mr Broflovski just said.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.”

That was kinda sweet, he guesses.

“Amen.”

He finally lowers the flickering flame so it catches the other candle, bathing it in its own glow as the fire consumes the fuel of the wax wick and melts it down quickly.

Sheila had said these candles had lasted the Israelites hours, so why did these ones seem to last mere minutes, at this rate? _Just a little odd._

They all stay silent for a moment, closing their eyes, probably in prayer. Stan mimics them at first, but soon grows bored as the seconds turn to minutes, seeing all their eyes are firmly shut and so sneaks a glance to his side.

Just a little one.

No one will notice.

Kyle’s face is still flush, sombre as anything as his head is turned towards his lap, eyes barely flickering beneath his thin lids.

Stan imagines he’s thinking. Really hard. About what though, he isn’t sure. Won’t ever be.

And then, Gerald shifts slightly from his spot, spurring the rest of his family into motion as they come back to the world, trying to smile but finding it difficult for the tense atmosphere.

God dammit, Stan really fucked this one, didn’t he?

 _Stan had_ **_fucking ruined Hanukkah._ **

They rise slowly from the floor, sighing.

“Alright,” Sheila finally breaks the silence. “Now let’s eat.”

They do grin at that, at least.

*****

Food just makes everything better.

That has never been clearer than right this very moment, as Stan waits, ravenous but just respectful and or fearful enough to not interrupt Mr Broflovski’s long speech about the Lord before they can begin to dig into the great bounty of food before them on the plates, still more in the centre of the table, and _still more_ packed up in the kitchen as plentiful leftovers already.

He wipes a bit of drool on his mouth, going back to bowing his head to the floor, eyes pretending to be shut.

“Amen.”

He waits to see a sign of movement from one of them before taking his silverware and hesitating.

Just a little more, he sees Ike stab one of the latkes.

Just a tiny bit more. When it’s in his mouth, Stan jumps.

Mr Broflovski asks a question to the missus, making it just a little less obvious that Stan is now _wolfing down his food like a starved bear out of hibernation._

Oh, there’s nothing like good homemade meals, cooked with made-from-scratch ingredients and _“love”_ all that other shit which he knows nothing about because he’s only ever burnt eggs.

It’s surprisingly flavourful for food not drenched in seasonings like he’s used to, feeling deceptively soft but also full and rich on his tongue, _every bit of it._

From the latke to the kugel to the brisket, it’s all **_fucking wonderful._ **

_Why can’t_ **_this_ ** _be his fucking family?_

Fuck Christmas, he’s jewish now.

In his heart of hearts, at least.

“Oh, I see you all enjoy it!” Mrs Broflovski chuckles, making Stan feel just the slightest bit of shame before he gets over it as his taste buds are delighted once again.

“It _is_ wonderful, mom,” Ike chirps, waiting politely so he doesn’t spit around his food. Much more than Shelly back home would do. Could he trade siblings as well, perhaps?

“Hm,” Sheila hums, “It is! But I didn’t make it alone, honey, I had the help of your _wonderful_ brother!”

 _Oh boy, here we go…_ Kyle thinks, doing his very best to not look anywhere near his friend sitting right across from him.

“Oh yes, he did such an amazing job, didn’t he! He was the one doing all the frying _—scares me—and_ the sufganiyot, _and_ the babka, _and_ a great deal of help with the kugel _and_ cutting the brisket, too! He’s just _so_ **_brilliant,_ ** _in all regards!”_ she says, putting on her best mommy-baby voice.

Kyle is burning up, but even _he must say he did a damn good job._

 _Tastes like fucking_ **_heaven._ **

_Spent literally all day on it, so it fucking_ **_better._ **

Stan takes a sufganiyot over his plate already half done within minutes, takes a careful bite of the powdered doughnut and just barely breaching the jelly filling, watching it run down the side before he tilts it just before it can spill onto his brisket… although, maybe that wouldn’t be that bad, because the fruit jelly was _fucking_ delicious.

He can barely finish the mouthful before triumphing his fear of talking to Kyle by the sheer dopamine of the delicious delicacy, excitedly asking, “You really made all of this sufganiyot?”

He doesn’t even stumble over the word, so lovely how could he forget it?!

Kyle looks hesitantly up to him, placing an elbow on the table before he remembers the rules, letting it slide off as he gives him an uneasy smile. “U-uh, yeah. Not that hard, only takes about twenty minutes to make, an hour to finish. I just follow a recipe, though, nothing special.”

Stan huffs. “It’s _amazing.”_

Kyle giggles, looking away almost _bashfully._ The other three’s conversation overtakes them easily.

Another bite and Stan’s brain seems to spark a malfunction, vivid images painting the black of his vision as he closes his eyes in pure ecstasy:

**_White lacy apron, that irresistible aroma, the unforgettable tastes._ **

_For a split-second Stan forgets everything else he’s ever known, ever learned, and fucking wants Kyle to just be his so he can make him these doughnuts every second of every day._

**Wait a fucking second.**

Stan pauses mid-bite.

 _Be his_ **_what,_ ** _though?_

 **_Friend,_ ** _right?_

 _But_ **_frilly aprons_ ** _didn’t usually equate to_ **_friend._ **

**_Now did they?_ **

**“Stan!”**

He snaps his eyes up, horrified.

Fuck, he _knew_ they could read his mind after all.

“Would you like to hear more about the history of Judaism?”

_“Uh–”_

“Okay! _So, in 108 BC, there was a–”_ and Sheila goes on and on _and on,_ everyone else, even _Gerald,_ slumping in their seats as she recounts tales and people and an unusual amount of detail that was almost disturbing in its specificity.

She _better_ have eidetic fucking memory, because otherwise this is just _ridiculous._

But it does leave Stan to enjoy his food with only occasional mmhms and ahs required of him. Better than his parents’ obsessive habit of asking him questions to the point that he was still eating after a whole fucking hour.

 _That_ **_one rogue thought_ ** _from minutes before_ **_does_ ** _bother him, under it all._

But he tries not to think about it too much, instead settling on mindlessly salivating over the great bounty before him.

And by the time the others have finished their plates—rather quickly as well, even Sheila somehow despite her constantly flapping mouth—Stan’s already refilled his three fucking times.

And it was a pretty big plate.

Sheila claps her hands together, announcing the half hour over, all of them looking to the menorah behind them to see the shamash die out right then and there.

Just in time.

“Alright, that was wonderful! Now if any of you want seconds or, heh, thirds? _F-fourths..?_ you can just take a plate straight up to your room! But do remember to be thankful for the food that you’ve got–”

The **_millisecond_ **she stops talking, Ike jumps from the table to run with his empty plate to the kitchen, noisily dropping it in the sink and then rushing to his room back upstairs.

_“Thank you!”_

Sheila just sighs.

Then the married couple rise, taking the empty plates, including that that the brisket was on—picked clean by truly _starving children—_ and bringing them with the silverware back to the kitchen.

Sheila smiles over her shoulder to the two friends. “I hope that dinner was as wonderful to you as it was to me, Stan! You are such a charming young man!”

Stan probably said ten words to her the entire time, but he grins anyway. “Thank you, Mrs Broflovski. It was the best food I’ve ever eaten, I think.”

She chuckles. “Well, thank Kyle for that! He might be humble, but he really has a way around the kitchen… and in many other areas, too, like Yale! _Such a_ **_gifted_ ** _boy!_ ” she says, fluffing his hair so he has to strain an expression of anything but the immense displeasure he feels then.

She laughs anyway, going to the kitchen to sternly talk Gerald’s ear off.

 _For his little crying slip-up was_ **_certainly_ ** _not forgotten._

“Well,” Kyle murmurs, getting up from his chair with a creak, _“I don’t know what you wanna do now…”_

**“Stay!”**

Kyle glances up, furrowing his brow. “Stay?”

“E-er, uh, I mean, if you’ll let me.” He takes his plate as he stretches up and out of his chair, feeling only then just how full he really is.

Almost fucking hurts, but he doesn’t regret a second of it. Could probably still eat even more, if it didn’t mean it might kill him… _and then, he’ll probably still eat anyway._

Kyle leads him to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder under the guise of his parents arguing, hushed and trying to be inconspicuous but neither of them giving a fuck anyway, “Well… okay. When I wanted you to come over at eight I was thinking we could just eat in my room, without my _mom…_ but since you ate so much already, I’ll just go start up a game or something.”

Stan grins.

_Playing games with Kyle, now that’s something he didn’t realize he missed so much it makes his heart pound until just then._

“Oh, that sounds _great.”_

Kyle opens the door, Mr and Mrs Broflovski immediately going silent, staring with shock at their son and his friend who just put their plates and forks and whatnot into the sink, uncaring.

“Thanks, Mom. And, uh, can Stan stay for a little bit? Maybe the night, I’m not sure.”

“Of course!” Sheila says, tucking a strand of red hair that had come loose from her tight up do somehow… _somehow,_ because Gerald pressed against the counter, frowning deeply, makes it pretty damn obvious. “You can even pick up some leftovers on the way out, Stan! The babka will be done by then for sure!”

After Stan gushes over the food for a whole minute without any sign of stopping anytime soon, Kyle elects to just leave with a little whisper of, _“I’ll be ready in a few. Take your time, dude.”_

And take his time Stan does.

He about talks Mrs Broflovski’s ear off, having her write down all the recipes passed down from generation to generation, even though he knows very well no one in his family would be willing to make this stuff, so far out of their comfort zone. Whatever, he’ll just take Kyle and make him show him!

Their conversation eventually derails into bits about their life, their jobs, college, inevitably settling on the pothole Gerald had made when it came around to the sensitive topic of Wendy.

_Oh, Wendy._

“And how are you taking it, Stan? the… breakup?”

Stan heaves a sigh, leaning on the counter behind him and listening to Mr Broflovski busy himself by rearranging the shelves, trying to appease Mrs Broflovski but probably only making her more angry in the end.

“It was really hard, at first. But then I realized that… I don’t know, it’s not like she didn’t or doesn’t mean much to me, she still does… But, it’s like, I don’t know, like maybe she was right, in a way.”

“She was right?”

“She said I didn’t love her.”

Mrs Broflovski lets out a heavy breath, deflating slightly. “Oh. And you didn’t?”

Stan shrugs. “I don’t know. But all I know is that I didn’t really love her near as much as I thought I did, I think. Because when she was finally gone, I might’ve missed her for a while, but that was just because she wasn’t there anymore, like when you lose something. You want it back so bad at first, but that’s just because it’s always been there. Then you learn how to get on without it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Yeah, and after that initial pain, I should have missed her even more. Remembered her and all the things we did together, the way she was, how she laughed… but I just… didn’t.”

Mrs Broflovski tilts her head. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. And I don’t think it’s just from the distractions my friends give me, I think it’s because I never really liked all that to begin with. I just thought I did. Made myself think I did.”

A grumble comes from behind him, “Didn’t see wisps of her everywhere? Little hints of what could have been? Count yourself lucky, kid.” He sighs. _Really_ digging that grave, Mr Broflovski.

Mrs Broflovski glares at him before softening her gaze back on Stan. “Well, that’s good in a way, isn’t it? Life is all about change, you know? One door opens, another one closes.”

Stan only nods, feeling sapped dry of energy after having to talk about that girl all over again.

“Well!” Mrs Broflovski says, looking to the white ceiling, “I’ll tell you, the biggest problem in our lives right now, _besides the immediately obvious of course,”_ she glances to her husband who knocks a few cans over, “is Ike.”

“Ike?”

She sighs, leaning heavily on the counter behind her. “Oh, yes. He’s going through some change too, you know? Fifteen, hormones, makes for a _very_ moody teenager.”

Ah, that’s why he stomped off earlier, the very second that he could.

Stan had just marked it down to Mrs Broflovski’s talk of the old Bible.

“He’s not quite as bad as Kyle, but I doubt anyone _could be,”_ she laughs. “Anyway,” she says, reaching over the counter to pull out some four-sided pegs, clay, rounded smooth on the bottom, “I was hoping we’d get him to play some games, sing some hymns, but he seems _even more_ disinterested than last year… Not sure what to do with him now…”

Stan pauses before a lightbulb goes off, eyes widening just as his smile does. “Could I try to help with that?”

Mrs Broflovski glances around a bit before letting them fall back on him, bemused. _“You, help,_ **_Ike?”_ **

“Yeah. I could try, at least.”

“Well,” she says, swiping from the counter corner some short cylinders of gold foil, “chocolate is always enticing no matter one’s age, isn’t it?”

*****

 _God, where_ **_was_ ** _Stan?_

He wasn't _still_ talking to his mom, was he?

_Jesus fucking Christ._

So Kyle gets up from playing against the level 6 CPU to let Greninja die again, instead going straight for the door with a huff.

The second he enters the hall he hears it.

Stan's voice.

Not just talking, but laughing, _singing._

He patters closer to Ike's room at the end of the hall, the noises becoming louder until they're finally clear enough to be deciphered.

**_"I’lllll try, to make it spin. Ittttt fell, I’ll try again!”_ **

Kyle leans over the door frame, looking into Ike’s room to see them sat on the floor, the clutter previously there moved to make some space in the centre.

Ike laughs across from his guest, a dozen or so gold-wrapped coins to his side as he goes to spin the dreidel, humming quietly, **_“Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidellll, I made you out of clay…”_ **

**_“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidellll, with dreidel I shall play!”_ **

**“Kyle!”** they both shout at once, the dreidel falling on its green gimel side.

“Yay!” Ike then says at the Hebrew, taking from the centre three chocolate coins as Stan puffs.

Kyle enters the room, settling down on the floor between them who move for him. Stan pulls behind him another dreidel, fifteen chocolate coins.

Kyle laughs a little, taking them from him gratefully. “Ah, we haven’t done this in _forever!”_

“I know! I didn’t even know you actually used items as rewards until your mom told me!” Stan says, adding one coin to the middle with all of them for a total of three, “God, I think Cartman would actually love this, you know!”

Kyle laughs hard at that, even Ike beside him chuckling just a little. Because haha, yeah, that Eric Cartman guy _sure was fat!_

“I think he would for sure! Might even convert to Judaism, honestly!”

Kyle criss-crosses his legs, barrelling down. “Anyway, do you guys want to start over, orrr?”

“Oh, sure!” Stan says, resetting his and Ike’s slightly depleted candy storage back to fifteen each, so it’s fair.

“You know how to start?”

“Aw, yeah! Ike showed me!”

The little fifteen-year-old ex-Canadian simpers across from him, nodding slightly.

“That’s great!”

So they all take their own clay dreidels and spin them on the wooden floor before them, putting a good flick so they rotate wildly on their rounded ends, until inevitably they’re thrown off or inertia slows enough to kill them, landing to the floor on one of its four sides.

Stan gets the side labelled shin, knowing it’s bad only because it’s blue; Kyle red hey; Ike the highly-coveted yellow nun.

“Hah,” Ike says, picking up his dreidel to smirk over it, “that means I go first.”

“Uh-huh,” Kyle sighs, getting his out of the way to watch his snarky little brother spin the top on the ground.

A pale hand suddenly snatches it mid-spin, Stan saying almost offendedly to Ike, “Hey! You know the rules, you have to sing when you spin it!”

Kyle laughs under his breath. _Oh, was that right..?_

Ike frowns, “I don’t remember that rule–”

“Well, it is one now! So start from the top!”

Ike rolls his eyes but digs back into his memory anyway even as he does so, taking the dreidel’s wick between his thumb and forefinger as he half-heartedly sings, **_“I have a little dreidellll,”_ ** he flicks his fingers to the side, letting go so the clay spins impossibly fast, **_“I made it out of clay.”_ ** He hums as it continues to spin, quickly losing momentum under its weight, **_“And when it’s dry and readyyyy,”_ ** it stops, clattering onto its side with a mark appearing like a table: _“hey”,_ so he grins as he finishes, **_“with dreidel I shall play!”_ **

Kyle’s to the left of him, so continues the song almost without pause as Ike takes two of the three chocolate coins.

 **_“Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidellll,”_ ** he spins it, **_“I made you out of clay!”_ ** It’s dying quick, **_“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidellll,”_ ** it falls on a corner, trembling between either side before finally collapsing, **_“with dreidel I shall play! Agh!”_ ** A right bracket for nun, so he gets nothing. But hey, at least it isn’t _shin!_

Stan’s laughing as he sings, **_"I’lllll try,”_ ** a super-fast spin, **_“to make it spin.”_ ** It’s wobbling worryingly of course, making his voice shake as he sings in panic, **_“Ittttt fell,”_ ** it fucking hurts as the solid clay projectile slams into his _shin_ before revealing the horrid W-looking mark of the same damn name, **_“I’ll try again!”_ ** he almost screams in frustration, throwing a coin back into the mix.

Ike’s laughing as he picks up where Stan left off, enough that he can barely manage to send the top he’s shaking so hard with bouts of giggles.

Kyle can’t help but stare at Stan as Ike goes.

It was amazing, how easily Stan had transformed a kid who would’ve passive-aggressively glared at Kyle just an hour before, slamming his door shut and avoiding all contact but for a grumbly dinner.

And here Ike was, all chuckles and snickers, landing on nun but not even caring that much.

**_“Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidellll…”_ **

*****

Utterly full of chocolate coins and sick of laughing till their sides split, it’s over an hour and a half later and so Ike’s bedtime by the time the two are forced to leave by Sheila’s astute mothering. It was Sunday after all, he had morning chess club to attend to!

So they return to Kyle’s room, shutting the door behind them and still giggling a little to themselves.

It’s then that Stan looks up, eyes immediately going to the flat-screen television opposite Kyle’s little bed, squinting as he guffaws.

“What?” Kyle asks, bemused.

“You _lost?!_ To a level 6?!”

Kyle looks back to the screen, seeing Incineroar still in his victory pose, Greninja clapping politely in the corner. Ah, he’d forgotten all about that.

“I was just waiting for _you,”_ Kyle spits, going over to mash A to pass through the embarrassing screen. “I would never actually _lose,_ he just beat me while I was AFK.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Stan prattles, coming to sit on Kyle’s bed anyway.

“Watch,” Kyle snaps, throwing him a pro controller, “as I kick your ass.”

Stan picks Ike.

“Haha, very funny, my little brother’s name,” Kyle says. “Now pick Link.”

Stan shakes his head. “Nah, trying out something new.” He grins. “Pretty sure I’ll _still destroy you."_

Kyle turns to stick out his tongue in the dim light of the TV and the desk lamp.

_“Try me.”_

*****

 **_“Hahaha,_ ** **Kyle, you play like a** **_fucking girl!”_ **

Kyle groans, seething through his teeth as he tries to button mash only to misdirect his up-special, just barely missing the edge and watching in helpless fury as Greninja falls out of view, telltale blast marking his death.

 _“Fuck!”_ Kyle screams, slapping a reddened hand over his mouth as he remembers it’s practically midnight.

“Want me to go easy?” Stan offers, intending the best, but it only serves to make Kyle fill with rage, hands clenching on the controller as he’s revived.

When an Ike at 50% tips him with his forward-smash and insta-KO’s him at fucking 30, Kyle fucking _has it._

He tosses the Gamecube controller behind him into the air, listening to it fall back upon the bed, relatively unharmed, but lunges straight for Stan’s throat next to him.

Stan sputters, dropping his electronic device in favour of trying to peel Kyle off of him, but his slender hands are wrapped around his neck in a choke hold, shaking him as violent as his weak strength can, so Stan has to snap his whole body forward to dislodge the redhead and make him fall back onto his floor.

Kyle’s panting with white-hot anger as he recovers and _spits_ in a mocking voice, “Oh, I’ll go _easy, Kyle!_ You _suck so fucking bad_ at this fucking game and _all the other_ fucking games that I’ll just dumb it down so you have even _the slightest chance,_ even though I’m playing a character I’ve never _fucking_ **played before!”**

Stan puts his hands up. “Woah, woah, it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

His friend just shakes his head, stomping once toward him on the bed and making him cower in fear. _“And_ ** _what_** _was that, earlier?_ I play like a **_what?”_**

“It was just a joke, I didn't mean it–”

 **“No, Stan!”** Kyle spits, eyes wide and lurid with near-murderous rage, “tell me. What was it you fucking called me?”

He clears his throat, scooting further on the bed as he mumbles, “Y-you… play like a… _girl,”_ he barely even breathes the last word.

So Kyle snaps his head to the side, taking another step closer. “Huh? What was that? You’re **_too_ ** **quiet, Stan.”**

Stan whimpers, _“I said you play like a girl.”_

And that does it, finally gives Kyle the permission he needs to leap onto the bed, grabbing at Stan’s arms raised immediately in defence, snarling and grunting the whole time, still so pent-up with anger he hardly knows what to do with himself anymore but just _fight._

Stan barely holds him off, lets him get in a few good hits and glances, bruising but nothing much to worry about, more so concerned with the pure look of hatred in Kyle’s eyes as he tosses his head to and fro, red locks falling over them before being dislodged by a sudden thrash to try to get another punch in.

After only a couple minutes, though, Kyle’s spent, barely even trying to move his fists at this point, the feeling behind them drained.

So he sits up, breath heaving, and lets his gaze drag down the wall, from the curtains to the bedspread, and then slowly back up Stan’s lax body to see his face.

Kyle grins. “Good. I needed that.”

Stan scoffs. “Seriously?”

“Mhm. I might be a sore loser, but you’re a **_dick_ **winner.”

**_“Kyle!”_ **

Said boy’s eyes snap wide open as he looks at the door, thinking he’s about to get a _stern_ talking to, maybe even a _grounding_ for a while.

He steps out the door and down the hall hesitantly to follow his mom’s voice, only to see her at the bottom of the stairs with a couple objects in hand.

Stan’s bored and practising combos when Kyle returns after a few minutes, shutting the door with his back and putting a couple things on his desk.

“What’s that?”

“The babka.”

Stan then points at a little white mug. “That?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Ooh.”

Kyle smiles. “Yeah. Come on,” he says with a wave as he pulls out a second chair from the corner and sets it near his desk, “you can eat it with the babka while we watch some movies or something.”

Delightful.

*****

Disgustingly full, Stan leans back in his chair while Kyle runs the food to the dishwasher, horror movie done with.

It was okay, but certainly nothing to write home about.

Unlike the babka and hot chocolate.

 **_Holy shit,_ ** every meal is just better and better _and he could die happy if he could just eat that food for eternity in the afterlife._

But it’s all in his belly now, so Stan turns his attention to the white folded thing that had been bothering him the entire film, brought in with the food, presumably because Kyle had forgotten it when he’d tossed it onto the kitchen counter downstairs.

He unravels it alone in Kyle’s room, watching it fan out right before his eyes, flowing down into a nice curved U-shape.

The door comes open slow, slams and locks shut fast.

Stan laughs as Kyle tries to snatch it from him, the ginger snarling all the while.

 _“This?”_ he says past wild snickers, “This is just _too damn much, man!”_

 **“Hey!”** Kyle whines, “That’s **_mine!”_ ** he huffs, **“Give it** **_back!”_ **

Stan brings the white velveteen sash around his neck, pulling the strings taut and just tutting at the view that results. Much too thin for his broader frame.

_It did smell good, though. Which was weird._

So he takes it off, purposefully flipping it over and bringing the neck hole over Kyle’s head.

“I think I like it _much_ better on _you,”_ he says with a wink.

And well, that’s enough to make Kyle start to blush, so he distracts by snapping up the apron, putting it on and doing the laces around the thinnest part of his waist in under a second.

As he smooths it out, Stan can’t help but smile, but not quite wide enough to be perfectly innocent.

It **does** look nice.

A little _too_ nice.

“Why do you keep it in your Goddamn room, though?”

“I-it’s… _mine,”_ Kyle can only manage.

“So my mom doesn’t get it mixed up, too small for her.”

Stan lets the ill logic slide, getting up from the chair to lay back on Kyle’s bed with a sore stomach.

**“You calling your mom fat?”**

**_“Stan!”_ **

Stan just laughs, picking up the controller. “You wanna play some more?”

Kyle sighs but drudges over anyway, taking the thing.

_Still wearing that lovely apron, of course._

Despite Stan's distracted play style, less than five minutes later and Kyle's already got his fists balled, looking to Stan with a familiar fury.

_And he hadn’t even trash talked at all this time! Not his fault Kyle never fucking shielded or grappled!_

“Well,” Stan says, dropping his controller, “wanna try to fight me, when I’m not going easy on you?”

_“Huh?”_

Stan scoots back on the bed, game forgotten as he smiles to his friend bathed in the blue light of the TV, the ongoing match still playing behind him but without any input now. Just the stage moving. Because Kyle refused to play on normal maps because he was a casual.

“I mean let’s wrestle, right now. And I’ll actually try, instead of just laying back and letting you swing on me like before,” he laughs.

Kyle blinks, then contorts his face into something like smug focus.

“You’re a fucking dick, Stan.”

And then he leaps forward with open hands.

The tense music of the game plays distantly behind them, utterly forgotten as they grapple for dominance with flying hands and elbows and giggles and a flowy apron getting in the fucking way, _shit._

Their fists clench and unclench around clothes, collars, arms, legs, _anything_ in order to throw the other off, distract and deflect until they can try to get the superior handhold.

With every passing second it grows rougher, making them begin to pant with exertion as adrenaline fills them drunk, fingers coming down hard on collarbones, pushing enough to ache, but their laughter presides over all to numb it to the play that it really is.

Kyle gets a snap down on Stan’s pressure point at the juncture of his neck, making him go limp with chill numb and fall onto his back, letting Kyle leap atop him to try to hold him down at the shoulders.

Stan comes to out of the ache, snarling up at Kyle before throwing his entire body weight at him, effectively throwing him to the bed onto his side, his red head landing at the very top of the pillows and _just_ below the headboard. _That would have fucking hurt._

But Kyle just giggles the whole time he writhes beneath his friend, clothes getting stuck under Stan’s nails, but managing to wiggle out of his hold enough that he rises up slightly, if only because his fingertips dig into Stan’s shirt, choking him a little with the sheer desperation of his hold.

Kyle’s suspended in the air now, upper body weight relying solely on his arm which grips the crimson collar of Stan’s shirt, his hair strewn all about, sticking to his skin with light sweat.

Stan pants down onto Kyle’s face mere inches from his, seeing the heavy flush colouring the light freckles upon it, his lips parted to let out gasping breaths from what was basically exercise at this point, vocal cords straining unconsciously to contort the exhales to barely audible whimpers.

 _“Yeah, you_ **_fight_ ** _just like a girl, too, Kyle!”_

He expects Kyle to retort.

But instead his friend just blinks slowly, eyes glancing between either of his blue ones, searching for _something._

 _Because God, dear_ **_fucking God,_ ** _Kyle_ **_loves_ ** _it when Stan’s hovering right above him like this, looking down like a predator, bodies pressed flush, so hot, still gripping his arms so it hurts, but hurts so fucking_ **_good._ **

That _delectable_ aroma fills Stan’s senses again, coming from Kyle’s noisy mouth, making his own water slightly, remembering the wonderful food, the dinner, the apron.

 _The fucking_ **_apron._ **

Kyle unties his fingers just as Stan looks down, watches his thin friend fall back onto the bed with a huff, shirt about his waist slightly rucked up from the fight, the lace of the apron still over most of his abdomen but just barely flowing too far to the left, allowing the smallest sliver of bare skin to be shown.

Just above his jeans, the line of his hip bone, the upper-right most of the V of his crotch. Naked, vulnerable.

It’s just skin, just a strip of flesh, nothing he hasn’t seen hundreds of times before, for Kyle was his best friend since elementary school, after all.

 _But never like_ **_this._ **

_Never in this context, with a heavy veil of_ **_sex_ ** _over top it, lust which came so suddenly that it downright confuses Stan._

 _But why does it also feel so_ **_right,_ ** _then?_

 _So wrong, but so…_ **_easy? Natural?_ **

**_Like he was meant to be doing this._ **

_To stare down at his friend, wordlessly but for huffs of hot breath, eyes scanning over his dishevelled clothes, the darkness in his vivid green eyes shining in the TV light._

At Stan’s staring at his body, Kyle makes a sound dangerously close to a _whine,_ so overcome with satisfaction he can’t help himself. Stan’s eyes snap up to the noise, dopamine making it hard to think past his immediate senses, the sights, the sounds, the smells all blending into one confusing jumble in his fucking mind.

Stan watches Kyle’s tongue come down to lick his bottom lip, a canine biting the inside of it.

He feels thighs shift beneath his own, a knee dig into his femur, but doesn’t dare even think to move.

_Frozen solid._

Kyle grins, whispering to him:

 _“Do I_ **_look_ ** _like a girl, too?”_

His eyes are half-lidded, gazing into him with something completely foreign.

Stan’s heart skips as he realizes what it is.

**Desire.**

Stan's own eyes draw down to try to make some sense of this, to draw away from Kyle’s face that is now **_way_ **too much to look at.

Instead, they come down on bare skin, seeing short filed nails graze upon them, digging the hem of his shirt up just the slightest bit to trace the curve of his thin waist, finger tips catching on the string of the apron pulling his waist even tighter at its smallest point.

 _Yeah,_ **_just_ ** _like a girl._

**_Fuck._ **

**This was wrong. This was all** **_way too fucking wrong._ **

But, at the same fucking time, somehow it felt **right.**

_Amazing._

**_Perfect._ **

Was probably just his dick talking, but _still._

Because Kyle looks divine, upper body pushed slightly up from his childhood pillows, one hand curling its fingers to the side in a wave upon his red locks, his chest panting with breaths no longer from physical activity, no, but now from lust.

Pure, unadulterated _lust._

His face is flush so it glows, blinking slowly, making Stan realize for the first time just how long his girly lashes are, how well the red of his wild curls strike against the green of his eyes.

His spit-shiny lips part to let out something which sounds exactly like a hushed moan, sending a shiver of arousal up Stan’s spine, the scent of delicious ambrosia on his breath and filling Stan with _want,_ **_need._ **

Because, _God,_ Stan looks like a mindless beast above him, blurry eyes darting to and fro, dragging down his body only to snap up again, to his distracting mouth, gaze locking with his in a powerful stare before he inevitably breaks it.

Because Stan’s too shy, too zealous, Kyle doesn't know, but he _doesn’t fucking care._

Because he just likes how this feels, right now. His best friend of an entire decade and a half right overtop him, straddling him, pressing down against him, mere inches from pressing their bodies flush.

It was fucking heaven.

**_Literal heaven._ **

_“Do I, Stan?”_

He talks slow, so damn slow, slow as molasses between his glossy lips.

 _“Do I look_ **_just like_ ** _a_ **girl?”**

Stan opens his mouth but just chokes when he realizes that _he’s–_

**_He’s completely fucking hard._ **

**“Game!”**

The loud sound startles them both, making them jump and realize just how fast their hearts are pounding, the moment shattered.

The clock ran out, and now Kyle's _really_ regretting being a weirdo playing on time instead of stocks.

Stan’s instantly filled with intense rue just as Kyle is with shame when he sees Stan move back, face contorted almost in _fear._

Because, fuck, he was in the Broflovski’s house, Kyle’s childhood room, crawling over top of him and God, almost thinking–

Thinking about **_fucking_ ** _him._

_In his fucking bedroom, where they’d played so many games, had so many stupid laughs together, hung out for what could add up to years total._

_Right under his parents’ noses, none the wiser what their precious, amazing son was up to with his trusted friend._

What a _fucking_ **_monster_ **he was.

He could never forgive himself for this, for defiling their home, defiling Kyle who looks after him with shocked sadness, misconstruing the cause of it entirely as he gets up back onto his two feet.

Stan shakes his head to clear it, but Kyle thinks it’s pure rejection, feels tears begin to well behind his eyes.

“I-I’ll just,” Stan stutters, hand already on the doorknob despite the dizziness of rising so fast, _of getting so aroused only to have it destroyed like a bucket of ice,_ “I’ll just go…”

He can’t even look back to see Kyle’s face of misery, opening and closing the door in a second, the room one person lonelier as Kyle listens to him sprint down the hall, down the stairs.

Kyle digs an elbow into the bed to get up, glancing from the door to the floor as he hears Stan rush out of the house like he was on fire or something.

 **Fuck,** he thinks, fixing his shirt, the apron.

 _God, he’s_ **_so fucking stupid..!_ **

He pulls at his hair, letting it hit the wall behind him as his eyes roll back in his skull in agony before squeezing shut. Such a fucking idiot, he’d fucking blown it completely, hadn’t he?

God, Stan looked like he was _horrified._

Would they even be friends anymore? Would it go back to the way it was? God, it fucking had to, didn’t it?

Would that be better, though? To just be friends once again?

Now that he’s finally got a taste of what he’s been wanting for years, actually had it flesh, reality right before him, of Stan over top him and fulfilling sexual fantasies he must have had a hundred times over, would it be worse torture to keep him just as a platonic friend or…

_To just break it up entirely?_

**_God._ **

What the **hell** had Kyle been thinking?

Acting all sexual, all temptress-like? It’s so fucking embarrassing he wants to claw his eyes out now, but instead he just sits there, breathing into his knees pulled tight to his chest so he doesn’t have a panic attack.

*****

The chill of the winter air as Stan bolts out the entrance room hits him like a wall, setting his senses alight with sudden clarity, _almost. Not really._

He snaps his gloves on, walking down the stone steps still in a total haze, because, _fuck,_ he might have nearly ruined the Broflovski’s precious son under their own roof, but Kyle was _fucking_ **_hot._ **

The image of him writhing beneath him on his own bed, coming to lay still and lax, biting his lip, raising his shirt, it was seared into his memory with that wonderful mouth-watering smell just as when Kyle was in the kitchen.

He feels his dick throb in his pants and thanks Mother Nature that the cold will probably make it go down quickly.

But before it can, before he’s even past the Broflovski’s house on the suburban block, before he’s rid his thoughts of their vivid naughtiness, he bumps _straight_ into someone on the pavement.

**_“Gah!”_ **

“Oh!” Stan blurts, backing up to rub his eyes so they actually fucking work, “Sorry!”

“Watch where you’re going, will you, Marsh? Jesus.”

Stan looks up to see a pale face, stern jaw, monotone voice unmistakable.

And the skinny blonde beside him confirms it.

Fuck, he’d just crashed straight into _Tweek Tweak_ of all fucking people, and right when _Craig Tucker is_ **_right there._ **

Stan takes a shaky step back, putting his hands up. “S-Sorry! I really didn’t mean to, I was just, uh, l-lost in thought!”

He expects Craig to grab him by the collar and lift him to his height like he might have in elementary school, but finds his childish memories don’t quite match modern reality, the guy just rolling his eyes under the dim street light and flipping him off.

At least the finger lost its effect around the thousandth time in fourth grade.

“ 'Lost in thought'. Sure bet you were, dude.” He has a slight grin, Stan’s confused as to why.

Tweek scoffs beside him, making them both look over as he sticks out his tongue.

 **“Ahhh! Buddha!** _You’re fricking hard!_ **_Gross!”_**

Oh.

Stan looks down, and, _yep, he_ **_still_ ** _fucking is._

 **_Some_ ** _fucking how._

He wills it to die—kinda wants to just in general but he’s talking about his dick mainly—going even redder with the chill and the shame as he pulls his jacket down, brain disobeying and projecting fresh images of freckles anyway just to really fuck him.

“It’s okay, man,” Craig chuckles, “happens to the best of us.”

As a brown thing suddenly bursts out of his coat’s breast pocket like a fucking alien, surprising Stan almost enough to fall back onto the pavement, Craig just pets Stripe the Fourth, almost in thought.

“Hmm,” he hums, “then again…”

 _“Huh,_ ** _w-what?”_** Tweek says beside him, eyes wide with fear.

“Nothing, babe,” Craig assures him with a grin before letting his gaze drop back onto Stan. _“Just that Stan just_ **_came_ ** _from Kyle’s house.”_

Wink on came, of course.

Stan sputters, stomping his feet as the couple giggle to themselves, even Stripe letting out some high-pitched squeaks under Craig’s mitten as though to belittle him further.

 **_“N-no I_ ** **did not!”**

Tweek looks at him through one eye, laughing as he points toward Kyle’s house noticeably void of Christmas decor unlike their neighbours, _“Oh, hah, oh,_ **_sure you didn’t!”_ **

Craig shrugs, moving Tweek’s arm along with his since they’re holding hands. “Finally realize you have a crush on him?”

What.

 _“Gah–ahaha, But what did_ ** _you_** _do to_ ** _him?_** You sure _ran_ out of there like a fucking bat outta hell, _oh!_ ** _Hahaha!”_**

**“Nothing!”**

Craig sighs, leaning on one hip. “Come on, man, just admit you like him already. Everybody else in this fucking town knows it.”

 **“Wrong!”** Stan yells petulantly, much too loud for a neighbourhood at night but he’s too concerned with defending his heterosexuality to care.

“You’re biased, because you’re **gay!”**

“Okayyyy,” Craig crosses his arms, “whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy. But you owe me twenty bucks when you do.”

“Alright!” Stan snaps before he knows what he’s agreeing to.

 **_Fuck–errr, wait,_ ** _that_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _be a problem, because there was_ **_no way_ ** _he was gonna lose, because he’s_ **_not gay–_ **

Craig and Tweek are both smiling and laughing, at him Stan thinks instinctually, and that’s how he knows he said that _entire last paragraph aloud._

He’s _such a fucking idiot._

 _Thankfully he doesn't say_ **_that_ ** _aloud, though. Learning!_

“Alright, alright, whatever,” Craig mutters, beginning to walk on with his boyfriend and pet before Tweek suddenly stops, digging his heel in to face Stan as they pass him.

 _“Oh!”_ Tweek calls, spreading a hand right before Stan’s face as he speed-talks like a fucking world-record holder, _“AreyougoingtogotothegreatbigChristmaspartyatCartman’smom’shouseorIguessit’sjustCartman’ssincethat’stheirlastnamebutit’snotlikeEric’swhichisactuallyhisfirstnamewhichIdidn’tknowuntilveryrecentlysomehowbut_ **_anyway,_ ** _it’sonWednesdayat7PMsharp?I’maskingifyou’regoing,remember,notifthat’swhenitis,becauseIknowthat’swhenitis,IwroteitdowninmydiarytentimesandeverythingsoIwouldn’tforgetlikelastGoddamnedyear…Oh,but **it’sChristmas,already** **,** isn’tthatamazing?!Icould’veswornitwasThanksgivingjustaweekago,althoughinawayitalsofeelslikeayearagowhichisweird,buthah,whatdoIknow,Iguesstimejustflieswhenyou’reforcedtoworkinyourparent’scoffeeshop24/7duringyourfuckingwinterbreakwhichissupposedtobeforrestandrelaxationfromDenverwhichisabigcityandIdon’treallylikethatbutI’lldoanythingforCraigincludingputupwithallthelightsandcarsandshitbecausethere’snofuckingwayI’mlivingwithmyparentsletalonewithouthimwhichIthinkisdependencybut,anyway,it’salljustabunchoffuckingworkforpeanutsand _ **_fuckingcoffee_ ** _thattheymayormaynotlacewithspeed!_ **_Oh God!”_ **

Stan isn’t even going to _attempt_ to decipher any of that.

So Craig just grins behind Tweek, peeking out around him to repeat in his slow drawl, “Are you going to the Christmas party?”

“Oh!” Stan says, memories of the fatass rattling on and on about the thing flooding his mind and giving him a break from all the intense shame and regret, “yeah, of course!”

Craig gives him a thumbs up as they leave. “Cool. See ya.”

“Yep! Night!” Stan calls behind them as they leave on their night walk… at midnight… only a little weird, but who the fuck was Stan to talk anymore.

He sighs, feeling at least a little better.

He digs his hand into his jean pocket and pulls out his phone.

*****

Kyle’s just over his sniffling when he gets a buzz on his cell, looking at it glow on his desk.

Oh, what the fuck ever, he might as well stop laying in bed and feeling bad for himself.

He can do that _later_ tonight.

So he goes over and turns it back on, putting in his password and then clicking the messenger icon.

It’s in their group chat.

From Stan.

**Oh boy.**

He has to scroll up as the other guys are typing, but sees the first unread one:

12:48 AM - Super Best Friend Forever!: guess im a jew now!

It lifts the heavy cloud of dread from Kyle’s heart, letting him smile, even huff a chuckle at the mile-long **_REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_ **that Fatass replies with.

Everyone’s freaking out, texting so fast it’s almost incomprehensible, but Kyle does his best to keep up.

_Stan’s just saying the food was great._

_And Kyle made it, of course._

So Kyle can finally relax onto his pillows, grinning at their silly messages and arguing as he lets himself slowly relax with them.

Because no one had to know what really happened.

No one had to know that Kyle might have taken Kenny’s advice just _a little too well._

No one had to know how hot Stan was when he was towering above him, pinning him down onto his bed so he’d surely jerk off to it in a few minutes… _only after brushing his teeth, of course._

But most importantly of all:

No one had to know that they **_almost_** **_fucked._**

**No one.**

**_…_ **

_And Stan says he’ll be back for leftovers, too…_

_Whatever that might be an innuendo for, exactly…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
> _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> I hope that was interesting for you all! Happy holidays! :D


	4. Santa Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“How! Much! Gay! Shit! Do! I! Have! To! Fucking! See! Today!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Merry Christmas!! Doesn’t really feel like it to me this year tbh, but here’s a heavily-Christmas fic to try to fix that lol! 
> 
> Featuring more softcore porn at the end, but about twice as hard this time! ;]

_ December 25th, 2019 - Wednesday _

“What’d you get?”

“Just some fucking ugly sweaters again… _Jesus Christ,_ **_mom…”_ **

Kenny laughs, clapping him on the back. “Hey, it’s alright! Your blood family might let you down but your _'extended'_ family **_never will!”_ **

_“Better not,”_ Stan says, crossing his legs and feeling the buzz of a high run through him pleasantly, “it _better_ be money, or else _I’m suing.”_

“Ay, at least you got _anything_ from your folks, dude! Meanwhile, I just get some screaming. Suppose the ringing in my ears is worth something, though.”

Stan chuckles at Kenny’s kidding sneer. Yeah, he probably shouldn’t be so upset.

 _At least he had a_ **_semi-functional_ ** _family._

 **“Alright,** **_gais!”_ **Cartman yells from the front of the living room, pissy excuse for a plastic Christmas tree flickering haphazardly to his side. “Let’s get this thing started already so I can order some pizza!”

He leans back and picks up a card laid overtop a group of presents, reading it over painstakingly slow a few times before he snaps his head up.

 **“Butters!”** he shrieks, making said guy jump up in his chair before his brain registers that Cartman’s voice is nothing like his father’s, and so skips over to the open space to pick up a singular present, fingers trembling on its bow.

“Oh, no no no,” Cartman tuts, “Not doing it one at a fucking time again this year. That takes _way_ too fucking long. Just grab all the shit and then bring it back to your seat, loser.”

So with a slight pout, Butters scoops up a handful of gifts wrapped in paper and sits on the couch next to Kenny.

 _“I got you the biggest one,”_ Kenny whispers to him. It makes Butters’ frown melt right away.

 **“Kenny!”** Kenny starts to get up but then Cartman slaps a hand into the air, “No! _Not your turn, just don’t do_ **_gay_ ** _shit_ **_right in front of me!_ ** _On_ **_my_ ** _couch, in_ **_my_ ** _house!”_

Kenny slouches back down with a huff. “Not your house, dude, it’s your mom’s. What’s Liane out doing now, anyway? _Sucking dick on the street again?”_

Everyone laughs loud as Cartman growls under it, kicking a box on the floor before realizing it’s actually his own, just snarling and then moving on.

_Pizza._

**“Craig!”**

And so it continues like that, all around the room until it gets all eleven people, including Cartman himself.

“Okay!” Cartman shouts over his little pile before him, on the ground now because standing’s too hard. “Now just go ahead and start ripping the shit open!”

Everyone watches for a second as Cartman tears the gift wrapping apart, leaving shreds all over the floor.

And then they awkwardly start to do it themselves.

God, Cartman was such a shitty fucking host, but there was no one else able to house eleven people without their parents killing them this year, _unfortunately._

Some of them start at the smallest, some at the largest, some at random. But they unbox the gifts only after reading the tag, _To:, From:,_ some handwritten notes on some, the girls writing little hearts.

_And Butters. Butters also wrote hearts._

The cacophony of ripping gift wrapping and whizzing of undone ribbons soon is overcome by gasps and squeals of excitement, seeing the neat little gifts their other friends had got them. Most of them were cheap—buying stuff for ten people tended to do that when they were all almost certainly working near-minimum wage jobs—but it’s the thought that counts.

So much cool shit, useless but interesting junk, some gag gifts, a lot of adult things that made them guffaw or go pink in the face, depending on who was the recipient.

Some of the things were handmade, either poorly or well.

But everyone begins to grumble as they realize a common theme, muttering to each other as they unbox the slimmest gifts in the form of an envelope.

Token breaks the silence, shouting to Cartman across the room with tatters of shiny paper all around him, “Really, dude? Everyone else has actual gifts, but you just make _cards?”_

“Yeah, and it’s fucking shit, too,” Craig says.

“Mine is written with gold glitter or something!” Bebe yells. “Like fucking arts and crafts made by a blind first grader!”

Cartman puts his hands up, a mug with the definition of _Fatass (n)_ in one, “Hey! _Mah house, mah rules!_ So either put up with it, or **fucking get out,** you **fucking harlots!”**

They all shake their heads but get on with it, putting up with Cartman’s shit one last time for this **_merry holiday._ **

Many joys and a few sorrows later, they’re nearing the end of their gift-opening session when Kenny turns to Stan, the blonde already done.

“Hey,” Kenny smiles pleasantly enough, but a hint of something suspicious behind them, “why aren’t you sitting with Kyle?”

Stan tries not to look totally deer-in-headlights as he glances up, but doesn’t really know if he succeeds as he manages a sheepish smile, looking back behind him at Kyle on the love seat with Bebe and Nicole beside him.

“What? He’s getting along fine with the girls.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kenny mutters, “just that you guys kinda seem to be avoiding each other again, a little bit. No chatting, not so much as anything past a hello. _Pret-tee weird…_ I mean, I thought you were a jew now, Marsh! _”_

Stan shrugs, pulling the bow off his last present, about to try his best to retort when, _thankfully,_ a high gasp interrupts him.

It’s from the love seat. But it’s not from the girls.

Instead, the females turn to the guy sandwiched between them, leaning over to peer into the box, same as him.

Their girlish faces light up with pure joy.

_His?_

**_Not so much._ **

_“Oh,”_ Kenny says with a grin just a little wicked, **_“whatever_ ** _could it be, Kyle?”_

Kyle glances between him and the present, shaking his head. **“Fuck you.”** He furrows his brow, half in rage, half in confusion, murmuring, _“You didn’t say here, Kenny–”_

 **_“Oooh,”_ ** Cartman yells from across the room, “what _is_ it? Come on, Jewboy, show us what’s in the box!”

Kyle shakes his head even more fervently, but now **_nearly everyone_ ** _in the_ **_entire_ ** _room_ is fucking enthralled, Bebe and Nicole both giggling with such excitement it only makes the curiosity mount by the second.

 _“Kenny,”_ Kyle sighs, “and we said just the _one thing.”_

 _“One thing?_ What do you mean by ‘one thing’, buddy?” Kenny smirks wide.

 _“The-the,”_ Kyle tries until he trails off into a groan of pure frustration.

“Show, don’t tell, Kyle,” Kenny snickers.

So, entire living room watching him from his gang to Craig’s, Kyle just closes his eyes as he holds up something red, appearing like satin with the way it catches the light.

“Ah, come on, dude, unfold it!”

Kyle lets his thumb slip and the entire thing spills down, dramatically unfurling and showing what it truly is, making everyone in the room **_gasp:_ **

**A dress.**

**_A short one._ **

Red with fluffy white cotton trim at the collar and short sleeves, all over the hem at the bottom that seems like it would end somewhere along the thigh, maybe even higher.

It has a black leather belt around the waist, a gold buckle set at the tightest hole.

 **“Oh my** **_fucking God!_ ** **No! Get that shit** **_outta_ ** **my house!”** Cartman screams, but everyone else manages to drown him out for once.

A girly Santa Claus outfit, Stan realizes just a little behind everyone else.

Kyle thanks God he gave into Kenny’s constant pressure to smoke a lot of weed, because otherwise, he would curl into a ball of pure embarrassment at the cheers that light up the room, the wolf whistles from some of the guys as he just shakes his head.

“What else did I get you, Kyle?”

Kyle rolls his eyes in absolute misery, dropping the dress between him and Nicole practically dancing in her place on the love seat to dig back into the box.

He retrieves from it a red identical to the dress, same exact texture and everything as it shines under the warm ceiling light, the fake fireplace.

The white puff on top of it makes it unmistakable. Iconic, really.

A little red-and-white **_Santa hat._ **

Kyle tosses it onto the couch, gritting his teeth at all the sounds of adoration.

He pulls out more things, two, so he has to hold one in each hand.

They dangle limply from his fingers, a red identical to the dress, white trim matching at the cuffs and down bottom around the finger holes, because, _oh_ ** _yes,_** they’re **_fingerless gloves,_** long enough to go up to the elbow.

He drops them mid-cheer, trying to get it done and over with as he displays the next pair of things.

Bright plastic, shiny enough to not look _that_ cheap, thin stilts a few inches long.

**_Red high heels._ **

_Stan doesn’t know whether to laugh or holler, and even if he did holler, what in the world he would say._

_But that’s okay, because he can’t even begin to raise his dropped jaw more than an inch._

And then another pair of things, everything dropped and raised and unfolded in a few seconds, held up just long enough by shaking hands Stan can begin to understand them for the white stockings that they are.

**_White, lacy stockings._ **

_And then_ **_the matching garterbelt._ **

Stan and Kyle both can barely even hear the deafening screams of giddy, blazed out of their minds, in the room, for the blood rushing through their skulls, breath catching in their throats until they start to asphyxiate, the lights somehow blinding and dark at the same time. Just completely out of it at this point.

But Stan thinks that’s it.

_It’s gotta be it, right?_

**_Dress, hat, gloves, stockings, garterbelt,_ ** _there was nothing left, was there?_

 _But_ **_of course_ ** _there fucking is._

One last dig into the nearly-depleted gift box, so ashamed he barely pinches it between his fingers in the air before throwing it straight back down on the pile of clothing.

 _But they_ **_all_ ** _see it, just register it a little late._

And they all go fucking crazy, just as the two can finally breathe, Kyle shoving all the shit back into the box and huffing all the while.

 _Because_ **_panties._ **

_White, lacy, satin, bikini-cut, obviously-made-for-a-girl little knickers._

_Dear fucking_ **_God._ **

Stan is gonna have a **_literal_ ** _heart attack,_ sitting right there, on that couch, as Kenny tries to revive him with some hits to his back.

 _But_ **_nothing_ ** _can revive him,_ **_not anymore._ **

So he just watches through hazy eyes as Kyle’s brought up by Nicole, Bebe moving past them to take Butters by the hand.

“Butters didn’t make _near_ as much a big deal of it, _dummy,”_ Kenny laughs.

Stan wonders what the fuck that means but then it clicks.

**_Oh God in heaven, dear Lord above._ **

He watches the two guys be led off by the two girls, off to some other room in the house, God knows where, _God knows_ **_fucking why._ **

Bebe and Nicole giggle the entire way as they leave everyone else behind, reassuring Kyle who can barely keep up with them at this point.

 _“Don’t worry,”_ Nicole whispers to Kyle, smile clear in her voice even then, _“he really liked that, I can tell.”_

She winks at Kyle even as he furrows his brow.

 _How the_ **_fuck_ ** _did_ **_Nicole_ ** _know? Only Kenny knew, even Butters didn’t realize what they’re obvious conversations meant… right?_

**_Right?_ **

“Just imagine how he’ll look when you’re _actually wearing it,”_ Bebe mutters then as they walk down the hall, much to Kyle’s _utter horror,_ images of last Sunday coming alive in his brain, how lust-blown Stan’s eyes had looked dragging down the white apron.

**_Fuck._ **

**_Why did he ever agree to this?_ **

*****

“God, where _is_ he?”

“Fuck, Stan, stop being such a fag!”

Kenny can’t even hit Cartman for that this time.

It was literally true.

But Stan’s taken a few more hits of the grossly communal bong, now so far gone he’s rendered further shameless of his odd, definitely superficial vying for Kyle. Almost enough that he’d be fine with shouting his little crush aloud.

 **_Almost._ ** _Still not_ **_quite_ ** _there yet._

“Just give them a minute,” Kenny mutters beside him, waving a finger through the air with the Christmas music that plays. “They gotta do a lotta work, y’know?”

Stan tilts his head. “Putting on girl’s clothes is a lot of work?”

“Well, when you’re a guy, yes. But also, ever thought that they might be doing _more_ than just putting shit on, Stan?”

Completely obvious.

_So young, so naïve._

“Huh?”

“Like what else do girls tend to do when they go to parties? … _Or FLARP as a princess, for that matter..?”_

Kenny waves his fingers over his face when Stan still hesitates.

 _“Nails? Hair? Fucking_ **_makeup?”_ **

Stan’s jaw drops for perhaps the fiftieth time that night, making Kenny laugh beside him.

“You’re **dumb,** dude. But that’s okay. Some people _really like_ dumb.”

Kenny’s words are meant to reassure him but it only makes the minutes drag on even longer, Stan trying to find some solace in talking to everyone or watching shit on his phone or the stupid Christmas movie on the flat-screen TV or just eating.

Oh, eating _was_ good. The Christmas cookies his mom had made along with Shelly were pretty nice, but it made him miss Hanukkah even more.

Because fuck, it might be sugar cookies with vanilla icing decorated to look like snowmen, but _nothing_ fucking beat that fucking sufganiyot.

He can only _imagine_ how utterly _mind-blowing_ they would be if he were high. Maybe it would break him to the point nothing else even tasted at all, let alone _good._

But finally, finally, just as he’s coughing up one last round of the stuff that Kenny had bought from a local shop—t’was Colorado, after all—excitement comes from the living room.

Stan peers around blearily, high out of his wits now, but so is almost everyone else who begins to shamble into the main room. No alcohol after all, so they had to make due.

A clinky piano plays over Cartman’s mom’s massive stereo, low voices singing through it:

**_“Ba boom, ba boom, ba boom, ba boom ba boom ba boom…”_ **

He takes a seat on the couch, squished between the armrest and Cartman. Too distracted to even care that it’s Cartman, and that’s amazing in and of itself.

**_"Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me."_ **

The low allure of Eartha Kitt’s voice plays throughout the room as movement draws all eyes to the hall, two life-sized figures of green slowly leaving the darkness into the light of the room, multi-colour glow of the Christmas lights making them shine.

Bebe and Nicole, bodies covered in forest hues, flecks of red in the form of mistletoes in their hair, stripes of white with cotton as trim.

The stupid hats make it extremely obvious: elves.

Of the Christmas variety, of course.

But they _do_ have pointy ears, by magic or liquid latex, it’s anyone’s call, really.

 **_“Been an awful good girl,”_ **they mouth with lips painted nude pink before breaking into giggles, watched by so many eyes of faces that drown the room in cheers and jokey catcalls, muffling the music.

The girls skirt around the corner of the hall to the right, revealing behind them a flash of red that has everyone leaning over to see.

**_“Santa baby…”_ **

It’s Butters.

In a girly Santa Claus costume, of course.

It’s similar to what Kyle had shown before, but much tamer: longer to his knees, white plain socks tucked into little black boots, the skirt fluffed out by a white petticoat, no belt around his middle to pull it in but instead just a line of fluff there. His gloveless hands hide his face that’s nearly as red as the outfit, overwhelmed by hollers that were certainly louder than those for the girls.

It’s cute, Stan supposes. And cute might do it to people like Kenny on the couch before him, grinning and yelling loudest of all, but all it draws from Stan is some polite clapping.

Sure, the makeup is nice, all glittery and glowing, but it’s missing something…

The girls and Butters step ahead and–

**_“So hurry down the chimney tonight…”_ **

Familiar pieces of clothing, but now made three-dimensional on pale, freckled skin. Arms awkwardly to his side, fingerless gloves rubbing their freshly painted nails, all blood red as compared to Butters’ clear manicure.

Kyle.

 **_“Oh!”_ ** Cartman chokes next to Stan, cupping his eyes but Stan doesn’t see it, too focused. **“Burn the fucking house down,** **_please!”_ **

But Eartha Kitt doesn’t care, nor does Kyle _too terribly_ much as he steps sheepishly into the room on barely-practised high heels, red and shiny as sin.

**_“Santa baby, a 54 convertible too.”_ **

He stops to the right of the other three, forcing his hands to his hips like Nicole had told him to do, but finds it very hard in practice: so many pressing gazes, watching eyes, _it feels like he’s literally going to_ **_melt–_ **

**_“Light blue.”_ **

Kyle’s eyes barely flick up and find Stan immediately, meeting right with his blue ones. The smokey red eyeshadow upon them shimmers in the light with the flutter of his lids, lashes much too long, too dark. Skin too rosy, too flawless, a false blush painted on his high cheekbones.

Stan’s gaze travels down—breath catching in his throat—over the downy fluff of the low collar, the flat expanse of his chest, the black leather belt pulling his waist a few inches too thin.

It might all be fake, superficial, unnatural, but Stan doesn’t really care anymore. Too far gone, too busy hiding his face with his hands as he looks even lower to the end of the red; white trim giving to the tiniest flash of pale skin beneath it, white lace, stockings, garters leading up them to disappear under his skirt, leaving those elusive panties up to imagination and, oh, how he’d _love_ to _see_ tha–

_Or._

**_No._ **

**Fuck.**

**_“I’ll wait up for you, dear.”_ **

He’s finally able to breathe as the other three become animate, the trio singing all too excitedly, **_“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight!”_ **

Bebe leans over to turn the music down so she can begin to announce.

“Okay, so for this costume contest, we’ll poll everyone by how loud you guys are! So first!” she rises up, snapping a hand down on Nicole’s taller shoulder. “Nicole and me! Who _wears_ it better?”

 _“Nicole?”_ she asks, palm splayed toward the girl who leans slightly on one long, dark leg.

Plenty of cheers, even the Santa Clauses clapping so Stan manages to as well, pretty loudly. Cartman next to him hoots nearly as loud as Token himself. So much for burning the house down.

“Good! Now! _Me?”_

She winks, fanning her hair out playfully in a way that makes Clyde and… Cartman both shout in approval, Clyde shooting over to Cartman with a glare so intense even Stan can feel the heat. Cartman moves back in fear, crushing Stan even more than he already had been. _Maybe he should just sit on the floor at this rate._

Bebe claps her hands. “Well, what do you think, Nicole?”

Nicole chuckles, one hand to her green-adorned hip. “You _definitely_ won, come on.”

“Oh, just barely!”

They both giggle and hug in that weird girlfriend sorta way, the giddy thankfully short-lived so Nicole can clasp her hands.

“Now, for the… _boys,_ I guess,” she laughs.

The room goes quiet in anticipation but for the song in the background, ready to scream themselves hoarse.

_“Butters!”_

**“Yes!”** Kenny yells as he stands up abruptly, clapping so hard it sounds like gunshots.

Everyone else joins in on the hype, the applause thunderous, deserving a noise complaint.

And well, Stan does smile and clap politely, but it’s with a grain of salt, something holding him back.

_Not sure why. At least, that’s what he tells himself._

“Wow, okay, okay! Quiet down now, hah!” Nicole tries.

 **“Shut up!”** Bebe shrieks, killing the crowd instantly.

Nicole smiles, waving nails striped green and white to the other guy who straightens his spine, pressing his legs together from thigh to calf to heel.

_“Kyle!”_

The response is immediate, but it’s missing that crazed excitement, that ravenous cheerleader, Kyle looking to the floor a second in realizing he’s gonna lose after all.

_Good thing he doesn’t really care at a–_

**“Yeah!** **_Kyle!_ ** **Oh, he** **_obviously_ ** **wins, just** **_look_ ** **at him!”**

Kyle isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or maybe die at Stan’s wide open mouth yelling a compliment, his joy lighting like a fire that spreads across the entire room.

Even Cartman starts to clap before he realizes his terrible mistake, going back to curling into an even tighter ball.

Nicole’s doubled over in laughter that catches like contagion, Bebe having to take the stand on her kitten heels to announce:

 **“Tie!** They both win!”

Everyone rejoices.

“O-Oh boy, w-what do we w-win?!” Butters asks with wide eyes.

“Nothing!”

_“O-Oh…”_

Bebe pinches his cheek. “Bragging rights, Butters. That’s what life’s all about, after all.”

_“O-Oh!”_

She then leans over to flick the stereo back on, everyone descending into loud chatter here and there over the music, returning to the cacophony of before as the mood settles back to more-or-less normal.

**_“I really do, believe in you.”_ **

Kyle walks off to the side, Stan watching every footfall made in an arc to compensate for the practical stilts he was on.

And, without really think, he follows him. Already standing from cheering him on, of course, so it was pretty simple to.

Stan trails a little ways behind him, for some reason not wanting to be caught and so keeping silent enough, Kyle seemingly ignorant as his skirt just keeps swishing over his ass. Stan tries not to look at **that** **_too_ ** _much._

He’s not sure how well he accomplishes even that simple task, though.

**_“Let’s see if you, believe in me.”_ **

And then Kyle bumps against a table, huffing in pain at the sharp corner that slams into his hip.

He looks down, seeing he’s knocked a little present box to the floor.

 _Well, he has to pick it up,_ of course.

**_“Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing: a ring.”_ **

So he bends at the waist, hands sliding down to the floorboard to retrieve the unwrapped gift.

**_“I don’t mean on the phone…”_ **

Just a bit out of grasp as he makes a swipe for it, so he leans further down, feeling the skirt around his ass slide up, over the curve, past the tiny metal clasps of the garters, the slightest chill across his exposed skin at the top of his thighs, bottom of his ass cheeks.

But it doesn’t matter. No one’s here, after all, he blushes to himself.

**_“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight–”_ **

Then behind Kyle, there’s a crash, making him jump but then freezing him utterly solid for a second, so when he’s finally able to turn back with present in hand, fixing the skirt back down his legs, it’s to see nothing but a bunch of boxes and purses and bags crashing to the floor, contents spilling out of them all over.

**_“Hurry down the chimney tonight.”_ **

He rolls his eyes.

Maybe that _was too much,_ after all.

And now he’s gotta clean all this shit up before people start asking questions.

**_“Hurry.”_ **

_Oh, fucking Stan…_

**_“Tonight?”_ **

**_"Wa wah…"_ **

Cheers and applause. 

*****

After trying about a dozen doors, Stan throws himself into the first room he sees with an actual bed, slamming the door closed as he hyperventilates.

His mind is a blur of action and reaction, sights, sounds, music both from memory and current as yet more Christmas tunes play distantly in another room, under chanting voices, unable to make sense of any of it.

Because, _fuck,_ **Kyle.**

_Kyle, Kyle, Kyle._

**_Kyle_ ** **motherfucking** **_Broflovski._ **

That guy was going to be the death of him, _swear to God._

Bent over, skinny legs nearly stock straight, plush at his thighs and his ass which he only _now_ realizes is fucking incredible— _has been_ —the stockings, the garters, the faux-fur riding up just enough to expose that horrible, beautiful silken white.

Tight across his ass, in a high cut so it let plenty of flesh fall out but kept just enough in to make it teasing, the bulge at the slip between his legs just slightly too round to be a pussy—but like hell Stan’s brain didn’t try to think of it like that anyway.

He’s **_hard,_ ** _painfully hard_ in his jeans, boxer-briefs, cock throbbing so strong trapped within them that he wants nothing more than to rip it out, maybe get one good pump to the base before he _shoots his huge load all over the floor,_ **_fuck–_ **

_But he_ **_can’t_ ** _let himself do that._

Kyle didn’t even **see** him.

And even if he did, it was still so wrong. Because that was his best friend, his _straight_ best friend, and he—Stan Marsh—was also _one-hundred percent_ **_straight._ **

_But why was he_ **_so_ ** _fucking_ **_horny,_ ** _then?_

Kyle was just a guy in girl’s clothing, all dolled up by expert hands not his own, seemingly taught how to walk, to pose, to carry himself by the girls so it all seemed just feminine enough to confuse Stan’s brain into thinking he was lady enough.

But still, he couldn’t excuse himself already. Because his brain also knows very well Kyle is a guy, has known this for years. Could see it immediately in that moment, with the broadness of his shoulders, the size of his hands, the bony structure of his body not softened by a curve of adipose tissue as a female's would be.

But again, that almost made it… _better,_ somehow.

Like the fact he didn’t really pass anywhere but with the clothes obscuring him—the stockings lighting up his legs, dress the shape of an hourglass, belt slimming his waist to a fraction of its usual size—made for a contrast that intensified the femininity, made it all the more impressive.

Because, at the end of the day, it was readily apparent, whether from memories of a decade ago or right fucking then, that Kyle was a man. And to look _that fucking beautiful_ as a man, almost mistakable for a woman if not for the lack of huge tits, it almost made that lack alright.

At least, for _Stan_ it did.

 _And that fucking_ **_horrifies_ ** _him._

But his cock twitches in his jeans anyway and he shakes his head, stepping away from the door to reach down and adjust himself to be a little less obvious, groaning at the slightest contact.

God, he was so fucking _turned on,_ it was _insane._

 _H–he doesn’t know what to_ ** _do with himself anymore,_** he thinks as he holds his arms to his side, turning around to face the door.

_What should he fucking do now? Because God, he’s gotta do something eventually–_

And then his worrying thoughts stop completely as the knob turns, door opening.

He sees a freckled face, red curls made even curlier, glossier, of course.

Kyle.

**_The worst possible person he could be seeing right now._ **

But Kyle doesn’t know that, so he just cracks the door open wider, letting in a hip coated in white and red, a thigh graced by white lace beneath it. Stan can’t help but stare, snapping his gaze up to Kyle’s face only when he coughs.

“What’re you doing in here?” Kyle asks, innocent enough.

Stan tries his best for a casual shrug, fails miserably as his voice cracks as he replies, “Nothing. J-just cooling down. Quite the… _experience…_ out there.”

Kyle gives him an uneasy smile, sliding all the way into the door on heels much too high and gleaming, shutting it behind him with his back left bare by the low cut of the slutty dress.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Kyle sighs, leaning back to push himself off the door frame as he takes a swinging step toward Stan. “Anything wrong?”

“N-no! What would make you think that?”

Kyle tilts his head, bites his red lip, looking up to Stan with eyes made a shimmering golden green in the dim light, “I know it’s… weird. E-especially after what happened… at…” he swallows hard, _“y-you know…”_

_“Yeah…”_

The tension in the room is practically palpable, but Kyle puts on a brave face.

**_Confidence is highly attractive!_ **

_At least, that’s what the girls kept telling him…_

So he takes another step toward Stan, not even noticing as the other takes one back, pressing him against the bed’s edge, too focused on what he wants.

“It’s okay. I forgive you,” Kyle says.

Forgive _him?_ But Kyle was the one who started i–

“We can just… move past it. _As_ _friends.”_

_Oh…_

Stan finds himself sitting on the bed now, Kyle still waltzing toward him on wobbly legs. The redhead just sober enough to be able to feel his extremities, just stoned enough to not think about them.

“Don’t you want that? To not want a rift between us _again?”_

 _“Of course not, K-Kyle…”_ Stan’s finding it hard to breathe, struggling up the covers as Kyle just follows him, eyes hazy like a zombie. Stan’s about as scared, so he might as well be.

“It was hell, wasn’t it?” Stan nods, Kyle just heaving a sigh as he begins to crawl up the queen-sized bed. _“You made me_ **_cry,_ ** _you know…_ **_you really did.”_ **

“I know,” Stan croaks, “I-I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

“It wasn’t just the first night, either. It was almost every night, for a few days.”

“You _cried_ every night?”

“Mhm,” Kyle hums in a mix of sadness and something else, continuing to move on hands and knees to Stan who’s now pressed completely against the headboard at the top.

Well, fuck, that was a sad thought. _Almost made Stan_ ** _forget_** that Kyle was directly in front of him, kneeling and shifting side to side to drag his way up closer, the reds of the dress shifting pinks and oranges under the yellow light, shining like the finest velvet.

_Oh wait, it didn’t really make him forget any of that after all, did it?_

_“I’m,”_ Stan chokes, watching Kyle’s silky dress move over his skin, _“sorry,”_ he almost forgets to **_fucking finish,_ ** so **Goddamn** **_distracted._ **

“It’s okay,” Kyle murmurs with a red mouth that only becomes impossibly more enticing the nearer it gets, bringing with it a familiar, impossible, delightful aroma. _“You can make it up to me.”_

Stan frowns at that but Kyle doesn’t even flinch, if anything just the slightest pull of a dumb smile to his lips.

Stan looks down at just the wrong time, Kyle right over him, thighs to either side beneath the skirt of his dress, so he’s finally forced to stop moving closer and just presses his chest up.

Directly fucking into Stan’s view, gravity making the empty cups of the dress fall down and out, wrinkling around nothing as there are no breasts to fill them, instead allowing for space so Stan can look right down.

Down his pale chest dotted with light freckles, all the way to where the belt cinches his waist in beneath his ribs. His eyes twitch to the side and see the dusty pink of an areola, betray his higher mind by looking even further, staring directly at the tiny hard peak of his nipple on his perky, flat tits.

Kyle grins in pure self-satisfaction, just pushing his chest out further, closer.

_Oh, what he wouldn’t fucking give to just have Stan touch him right there, or anywhere, really. Oh God, maybe he could even press his face down into his chest, lick his nipple, suck it–_

Kyle shifts his thighs as he feels himself start to get hard just at those thoughts, at Stan’s staring still in the stage of shock, the slow idiot.

Nylon tights rub around Stan’s legs, hard enough that he can feel it even through his jeans, hands instinctively coming down just to make the sudden movement stop.

But it only puts him in an even worse predicament than before, now holding onto Kyle’s ass through the thin material of his dress, feeling his friend's trembling breath through his entire body, into his pressing fingers.

Kyle keeps his hips raised just enough that his erection won’t touch Stan’s body, hidden well enough under the fabric of the dress and the fluff so it’s just the slightest outline of a cock. He thanks God for the first time in his fucking life he has a slender one. It's definitely not _microscopic_ or anything but it's just a little… on the smaller side, is all.

So Stan isn’t too suspicious as Kyle leans closer into him, squeezing his thighs so even the lace digs in. The proximity washes him in the scent of perfume, flowery but not over-bearing, and there’s that strange hint of something truly delicious, like bread fresh from the oven but that isn’t fucking even possible–

Nonetheless, the lovely aroma mixes with the visuals, swirling into one in Stan’s blurry mind.

His skirt somehow rucks up to one hip, allowing Stan’s traitorous eyes to run over the absolute territory between the white downy and the lace, just a small strip of pale flesh adorned with enough fat to make it burst slightly from the thigh high, around the glossy ribbon of the garter strap in the middle.

Stan isn’t even sure why, but that part’s _really fucking hot_ to him.

It looks so **smooth,** so **tempting,** he just wants to move his hand _an inch to the inside and he’ll be touching it, all_ **_his._ **

He would go up the fleshy expanse of his thigh, guided by the silk of the garter until he would feel the lace of those lovely white panties he got but a glance of, allowed to trace them all the way into the darkness beneath Kyle’s skirt, and _who knows what he could do_ **_after that…_ **

**But he just can’t let himself do that.**

_No, he’s high, Kyle’s high, there was no way he could fuck his best friend in the entire world right now._

_And what would Kyle think, after all this was done and he was sober?_

_He would probably hate Stan’s fucking guts for the rest of eternity, an innocent, silly little moment misconstrued for much, much more._

Yeah, it must be just a strange joke.

Because there is _no way_ Kyle actually **_likes_ ** Stan like **_that._ ** No _fucking_ way _in hell._

At seeing Stan’s wandering eyes stop to furrow, Kyle tilts his hips and gets Stan distracted all over again. It’s just so _fucking_ **_easy._ **

_“Stan,”_ Kyle whispers, slow and low just like Hanukkah.

“W-what?” Stan murmurs, ripping his gaze from Kyle’s leg to the flush of his face, blinking false lashes up at him lazily.

He watches Kyle’s painted nails run down his dress, at the sides from the bustier over his ribs all the way to the corset that is the black leather belt, huffing.

“It’s getting _tight,”_ Kyle gasps, running his red manicured nails slowly over the gold belt buckle so Stan’s eyes will follow his every movement, every little flick of his fingertips.

_“I’m gonna take it off, okay?”_

Stan just nods, Kyle immediately flicking the belt to undo it.

Yeah, of course, _why_ would he have a problem with that? His friend suffocating half to death before him by that horrible piece of attire, what was wrong with taking it off?

_What, because Kyle’s still straddling him, tits still presented tantalizing below his mouth, thighs flush with his?_

_Because Stan’s fucking erection was throbbing in his pants so hard it hurt? Because he was thinking of grabbing Kyle with the hands still pushing into his ass and just throwing him onto the mattress, so he could touch, feel, devour every part of him?_

_From succulent thigh to perky breast to shimmering lips to_ **_hard, twitching prick?_ **

_Well,_ **_no one_ ** _had to know any of tha–_

“Pizz **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”**

Cartman fucking screams at the top of his lungs, throwing the boxes of pizza he'd been parading around the house to have them be ruined as they fall over the floor or no they fucking don't, because Butters is right there to catch them all just in time!

“Nice job, Buttercup!”

Said confectionary would clap if it weren't for the heavy cardboard and carbs weighing him down.

“Y-yay, I did something r-right for once!” He beams as Kenny ruffles his short hair.

“Now,” Kenny says, _“what's going on here–_ **_oh God–”_ **

Kyle’s just got the belt sliding down his waist when the cacophony makes them both startle enough to fall off of each other, Kyle ending up on his ass to the left of Stan whose heart pounds enough he _swears_ he’s gonna have a heart attack.

And good thing, too, because as people swarm in and around Cartman now clawing his eyes out in the hall, they only see the two guys on the guest bed, inches away from each other, Kyle seemingly mid-strip, their legs spread so both their hard-ons are blatantly obvious.

 _Okay, maybe it’s_ **_not that much better,_ ** _but it’s_ **_something._ **

Everyone’s silent for a _long_ second, just a tense blanket of confusion at the absolutely surrealistic scene before them.

And then all their uninvited guests **howl with laughter.**

Numerous cries of _“Oh my fucking God!”_ and _“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”_ over all.

The couple finally remember themselves, rising quickly from the bed with stiff limbs, Stan having to roll a few times to make it onto the floor, but unfortunately getting a little overzealous with the last one so his corpse just hits the ground.

God, how he _wishes_ he was a corpse.

“Oh!” Kenny _guffaws,_ “I knew I said more obvious, Kyle, but _really?!_ You could’ve at least locked the _door,_ man!”

Kyle crosses his arms and huffs, only to look down and uncross them to fluff his skirt over his still-semi-hard cock. “I’m high! I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Ohh, _sure_ you don’t…” Bebe teases from behind a shoulder. “Don’t lie, Kyle, you know exactly what’s happening.”

_He really doesn’t, though. He swears._

After a constant onslaught of unbearable teasing, jabs, jeers, and insults that makes the mere seconds it takes to round the halls feel like literal years, Cartman leading the pack gives another high-pitched shriek.

He coughs, turning it into a snarl filled with about as much testosterone as a 200 pound manchild can manage.

**“How! Much! Gay! Shit! Do! I! Have! To! Fucking! See! Today!”**

He accents every word by punching the wall next to him. From the sight of it, it’s something he does often.

“What?” The fucker Craig Tucker asks so casually, even with an undeniable flush to his face.

He points to the ceiling. “It’s a mistletoe. That’s like, the law.”

“That was _not_ there a second ago!” Cartman shouts.

Craig just shrugs, pinning an arm over a Tweek who looks much too alright with the entire situation, only _slightly_ on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Shouldn’t he be on the floor ripping his hair out? He’s done much more for much less, namely breaking coffee mugs.

“Well, it’s there now. So get over it.” He grins, glancing down to Tweek before doing a double take back to the crowd, spying the odd couple out of the sea of mostly neutral looking faces.

He takes one look at them, at Stan’s scarlet face, his wrinkled shirt, Kyle’s belt held in a tight fist, skirt still mussed up at the hem, slight distance between the two, and instantly knows what’s up.

“They fuck, didn’t they?”

The whole room breaks into laughter at Craig’s monotone voice, something so blasphemous said so damn easily, and everyone moves on to separate bits of the living room to enjoy the pizza which Butters oh-so-carefully places on the marble counter.

But Kyle and Stan just stand there, offended with haughty gazes and crossed arms.

“We did not!” they say in unison.

 _Way_ to prove the point, guys.

Craig just chuckles. “You owe me twenty bucks, Marsh. Pay up.”

“N-No! I do not!” He can see Kyle’s glare furrow a bit more, soften in confusion to glance just a second to Stan.

 _Oh God, did he think they fucking bet on this? Fucking Craig, Stan was going to_ **_gut_ ** _him–_

But Craig just shrugs, pushing off the wall to take his boyfriend by the hand and lead them both over to the five boxes of hot pizza.

Yeah, greasy, disgusting food did sound really good now.

_But so did a drink…_

Stan looks down to try to focus on the outline of the tiny flask still secure in his sock—still can’t quite go without that one, it seems—but instead his gaze gets stuck on the white trim poking out next to him, just an inch from touching his own leg.

The red-purple sheen of the velvet-like, thin fabric of the minidress.

Under to see the pure white stockings, and Stan has a realization that hits him like a truck.

 _He was_ **_totally_ ** _going to jerk off to this tonight, wasn’t he?_

 _Well, as Kyle stands there, eyes darting hesitantly about, hand not holding his leather shame trying to pick up the skirt to hide his erection which he can feel is beginning to leak beads of pre into his panties, he_ **_knows_ ** _he’s_ **_definitely_ ** _going to_ **_fuck himself to this night for a long time._ **

**_A long, long, long time…_ **

But for now, at least, pizza is enough.

So they go to grab an oversized slice or four, awkwardness of before almost entirely forgotten as the minutes wear to hours, people beginning to leave as the buzz dies off and exhaustion sets in, remembering their merciless jobs come tomorrow morning.

But Kyle and Stan have no jobs here in South Park, no real responsibilities, nowhere to be. Well, Sheila and Sharon might throw a hissy fit over them getting home at 3 AM, but what else did they expect when regretfully giving them permission to a Christmas party with friends? And hey, weed is _perfectly_ legal now, so they’d just have to get over the horrible, burning smell!

It’s only when almost everyone else is gone that they remember the little incidents of before, Kyle looking down after yet another slice of cold pineapple pizza to remember, oh yeah, he’s still wearing a fucking Santa dress that cost twenty-five fucking dollars. He knows that because Kenny made him pay for it. Fucking bastard.

Speak of the devil, there he is, leaning over the couch from making Butters giggle like a fucking girl for the past half-hour to give Kyle a killer grin, looking down at him and his phone playing some mindless game to block out the stupid teen sitcom Cartman put on before marching upstairs to pass out in a pile of Cheez-Its.

“H–”

“Shut up,” Kyle snaps, his easiness gone now that the high had worn off, leaving him to tired sobriety once again. “I don’t wanna hear it, _any of it, Kenny.”_

“H-he’s just t-trying to help you, K-Kyle,” Butters gasps from the side, his loose version of the costume seeming much more comfortable, making Kyle squint his eyes in envy.

“Sure he is. Or setting me up for failure and heartbreak, I’m not really sure anymore.”

Kenny frowns, tilting his head. “What? You really think I’m just playing with you, your relationship, for kicks or something?” He scoffs. “Didn’t know you thought _that_ low of me.”

Kyle groans. “Oh, stop being a drama queen, Kenny! No, I don’t think that. But I **do** think you’re in over your head. And so am I. You should’ve seen him, barely moving under me, just shocked still, later he just stood next to me before dashing to get some fucking pepperoni! _Pepperoni!_ He’d rather have _that_ than fucking _me!”_

“Oh, but I’m _sure_ he would _love_ to _fuck_ you–”

“Kenny!” Kyle and Butters both scold simultaneously. They look at each other a little weird before Kyle bears back down on the actual blonde menace here.

“And I’m not even sure of that! He had the perfect fucking opportunity when he came over for Hanukkah, alone in my room in the dead of night, right on top of me, could just spread my legs and do _whatever_ he fucking wanted to me right then and there but instead he gets scared off by the fucking _game ending_ _and_ **_oh my fucking God why am I telling you this–”_**

Kenny’s just doubled over in loud cackling laughter. Kyle looks down at his red blurry fingernails and concludes he might _still_ be _a little_ high, after all.

“That’s _fucking_ **amazing,** dude! So _that’s_ how you convert a guy, after all! _Hahaha, congratulations!”_

“No! That’s the damn problem, Kenny! All these opportunities and he just doesn’t bite, gets scared off, doesn’t wanna initiate anything, just a deer in headlights, stare, _stare, stare,_ but nothing– ** _nothing_ ** _fucking more!”_ He snaps up the pillow behind him to crush it between his weak hands, seething. _“I wanna fucking kill him!_ What _more_ does it take? Just ripping off all my clothes and bendin–”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Kenny says, waving before Kyle to get his attention and motioning just the slightest to their wide-eyed friend behind him. Not in front of the child! _Even though Butters probably had a dirtier mind than all of them combined. Ever the quiet, sheltered ones._

“Alright, so maybe the teasing thing isn’t working! That’s… unexpected, but that’s okay! Makes sense, almost, when you really think about it,” Kenny explains with a smile.

_“It does?”_

“Yeah!” Kenny nods excitedly. “Of course! Stan’s an _idiot,_ right? So keep it nice and obvious for him, no potential miscommunication or overthinking his little brain or anything!”

Kyle drops the pillow, stretching out on the couch far enough to snap off one of the garter straps. Motherfucker, not _again._ “You want me to just go up to him and say, _‘Hey, Stan! I’ve been in love with you for like five fucking years! Yeah, since fucking high school, soooo…_ ** _date?’_** ”

He finishes redoing the plastic clasp to shake his head. “Maybe in my fucking dreams. And, y’know, I don’t really like doing all this teasing stuff. I mean, I definitely do in the moment, but afterwards? It feels kinda _wrong,_ like I’m _manipulating_ him or something. Toying with him. I don’t wanna do that to him.”

Kenny nods, sighing, “Okay, then, not like any of that! So! Instead! We’ll just, maybe like… _uh…”_

“Have a sleepover at my house and play party games.”

Everyone slowly turns their head to see Craig standing nonchalantly in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” Kyle gasps, snatching the pillow and hiding his face behind it, “don’t tell me you heard all that!”

“Yep. Since the very beginning. I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes waiting for Tweek to get out of the bathroom. Don’t really know how you didn’t notice me.”

Silent and so unassuming he blends into the walls after he’s finished talking, it’s pretty easy to imagine.

 _“Noo!”_ Kyle cries, beating his face with the tan throw pillow, _“another_ person knows!”

“I already knew.”

Kyle peeks a shadowy eye from behind the plush. “Really?”

Craig rolls his eyes. How could two guys, let alone _one,_ be so fucking delusional?

How detached could they be to not notice all their peers giggling around them, gossiping way too loudly directly behind them? He wonders, was it a conscious effort, or perhaps their subconscious working overtime to shield them from the truth?

“Yep. And I’m about to be two-hundred-and-ten dollars richer, so don’t let me down, Kyle.”

**_Fuck!_ **

They _were_ betting on him!

“So, to help you along with the inevitable,” Craig feathers his hands together, “all four of you, Stan included, come over for a sleepover at my house on Sunday. It’ll be just like the good old days, because there’s _nothing_ weird about six grown twenty-year olds in a man’s childhood bedroom all together.”

_Sure…_

“So what do you guys say? It’ll be fun, I promise.” Craig puts on the slightest forced grin, tossing in a thumbs up for good measure.

How incredibly alluring.

“Okay!” Kenny says.

“I-I-I g-guess! Sure!”

“Well, Kyle?” Kenny asks, looking over his shoulder with a lazy sneer. “What do ya say, for both you _and_ Stan?”

Kyle huffs into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut before throwing it down to his lap. “Okay, fine!”

They all rejoice, Craig saying just as light footsteps echo down the hall toward them, “Nice. We can leave from the mall or something then.”

“Oh Jesus, _what?”_

Craig grins as he turns around. “Little slumber party, babe. Just a little extra fun for Sunday.”

“Nnnh, _but we already agreed to watch all of Red Racer again…”_

“This will be _even better_ than that,” Craig smiles down at him.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?”

 **“Nothing,”** everyone says, turning their attention back to their phones and friends.

Stan shrugs, nursing his bottle of pop.

Tough crowd tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
> _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
> _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hehe, I hope you guys liked! Next chapter is where everything all finally comes together!


	5. All I Want For Christmas Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They _better_ not have fucked in my house, or I swear to fucking God…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> And here’s the real deal lol! There’s some definite Dom/sub undertones, just telling you now! ;]

_December 29th, 2019 - Sunday_

It feels like a fucking eternity before they get some genuine alone time after that disastrous party.

Okay, it wasn’t _really_ disastrous.

Just thoroughly **_fucking embarrassing,_ ** _melt-into-the-ground-and-rot-type-embarrassment,_ something their friends liked to continually harass them over the days, just intensifying the shame that flushed their whole bodies when it turned to night, sending them to their bedrooms alone, only a few blocks separating them but feeling miles apart, worlds different, never sure quite what the other might be thinking.

Like right now, what was he doing? Watching something? Playing a game? Taking a shower? Probably just sleeping?

But no, _oh no._

Because this Saturday night, in their own individual, completely separate circumstances, they both find themselves coincidentally perfectly alone: parents out, siblings gone with to attend to some extracurricular thing or a cute dinner or whatever.

It hardly mattered, because all that did was that they were _finally_ alone.

And that meant they could moan as loud as they want.

Stan does just that, cock just out his fly so he can fist it desperately, groaning and keening with the wonderful pleasure that comes. Cumming just once in the shower Thursday evening was _definitely_ not enough, _hardly even took the edge off._

Because he keeps seeing Kyle’s face, his body, those thick, long legs, all dressed up in white and red, green eyes staring at him, _into him._

Thinks of him at the worst times, getting hard near-constantly like he was a fucking teenager all over again, but what can he do? His brain is the one that keeps flashing images of Kyle bent over in front of him, forcing him to remember the roundness of his ass, the swell of his balls trapped within the panties, and, God, why is that so fucking sexy to him? Shouldn’t it be repulsive?

He watches through lidded eyes as his cock twitches in his palm, a pearl of precum beading at the top before being swiped around his red glans by the pad of his thumb.

His body certainly disagrees.

He flings his head back toward the wall, thrusting his hips into his hand like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing, just so undone by all the images in his head, all the thoughts, the desire, the want, the _need._

He wants to fuck Kyle so bad.

He _needs_ to **_fuck Kyle so_ ** _bad._

And Kyle would certainly agree if only he could read his mind, houses away as he pants and whines in the emptiness of his bedroom, grinding his hips down and bucking his hips to drive his prick into his hand, as well as something else deeper inside of him.

It might be nice to scream as loud as one wants and get off outside the shower, but Kyle’s especially grateful that his entire family’s out for a couple hours.

Because, otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to drag from under his bed the precious shoebox, inside a plastic bag one of his most prized possessions.

Also, one that his mother would have a stroke at if she saw it.

Hence the under the bed part.

A black silicone dildo, moderately expensive and something he’d bought a year ago, been so paranoid he had it dropped off at a foreclosed house just to ensure his mom wouldn’t be nosy, as she always was, and have her life completely changed by the discovery.

It’s on the smaller side, just four and a half inches long, girth of a couple fingers or so, but he’s way too nervous to try to buy another, so it’ll have to do for now.

And it does well enough, might he say, coated in artificial lube that looks remarkably like cum, making the slide into his ass nice and easy, squelching just loud enough to feel obscene as his asspussy sucks it up greedily.

He has the lacy white stockings on right now, too lazy to even try with the garter so they roll up but he doesn’t even care at all, too lost in pleasure as he fucks himself in the ass as hard as he can for the awkward angle, looking down to watch him finger his cock and be filled with heat from the sight of the thigh highs.

He spreads his legs further, lace wrinkling up but making him feel even sluttier somehow, like a desperate whore so mindlessly needy to fuck that he couldn’t even fix up his outfit.

Speaking of which, the apron on his stomach has ridden down enough that it’s now beneath his cock, realizing this a moment too late and watching in fucked-out vain as a drop of cum stains on to the fabric, wetting it but otherwise unnoticeable.

 _Does he even have to wash it, at this point?_ he wonders with a high moan—of course he’ll fucking clean it later, but—God, he _loves_ feeling like a dirty _slut._

He’s naked otherwise, hard nipples brushing purposefully against the cotton of the apron, making him shiver even more.

 _“Mmm, fuck, Stan!”_ he calls out to no one, flicking his wrist about both the dildo and his cock to make himself scream the next part, _“Ah, fuck me!”_

The dildo is small, soft, best he could get in the seconds he sweated to look, but it could be so, _so_ much better.

Mostly if it were a certain dude’s actual cock.

It’s just conjecture to his virgin imagination, but he can’t help but fantasize how it would feel as he fucks himself with the sorry excuse for a cock. Would he be cut? Or maybe not? How much would he be able to feel? From the Googling in private he’s done before, he sees people say not all that much, not the warmth, not the ejaculation, not the veins, nothing.

But, at the very least, he’ll be able to feel the fullness, the pleasure he feels right now as he rams the dildo against his prostate.

And, most important of all, it will be Stan.

His stupid, _stupid_ childhood friend.

With the blue eyes and the black hair, the warm contentedness with his mere existence that Kyle so envied.

The stocky body, wider shoulders, more masculine jawline and adam’s apple and wide chest and…

And his heart-stopping smile, his wondrously kind eyes, his cute trickle of a laugh–

 **No,** Kyle frowns.

 _No,_ he’s supposed to be getting off right now, not melting over his friend.

Because nothing kills a boner like flushing over a person’s non-sexual characteristics.

So he turns back to wondering what his cock would look like now. Veiny? Smooth? Hairless? Probably not?

How big, how long?

Because he himself, well, four inches is average, right? Four to six inches? Which, at that point why don’t they just call it five–

 _Holy fucking shit,_ he’s so bad at this he watches his dick start to soften in his palm.

Think of something else, something sexy, something–

Kyle was so _cute_ in that apron, that Christmas outfit. All laid out beneath him, curling his spine to press up against him.

The imagery is great in Stan’s mind, but he wishes he had a picture, wishes it were right before him.

Kyle snaps the lace of the garter down with the hand not reviving his cock with the dildo grazing on his prostate, remembering how this is the same one he wore while he was seducing Stan. He’d been embarrassed just a few minutes before, but right now, with the heat of sex on his mind, he finds the whole thing super hot all over again.

Sure, Stan might not have done much, but staring up at him? Watching every move? Revering him almost as a God, so close to snapping, to fucking him? He had to have been, right?

God, and Stan was _so_ fucking close to fucking Kyle both times, he just didn’t even know it then. Was just a few more minutes from pinning him down, shoving his hands against Kyle’s crotch, feeling him up whether it be under the apron and upon his pants or up his skirt and over his fucking panties.

He doesn’t even know why, because it doesn’t make sense, he’s _not_ fucking gay, but he wants so bad to see Kyle’s cock, be able to touch it, fuck it into his hand.

Maybe he’d even give him a blow job?

Kyle knows it’s far-fetched, but the idea makes him keen, twist a nipple with his off-hand through the apron. Thinking of Stan on his knees—out in God knows where, one of their bedrooms, in a kitchen, out in fucking public, he doesn’t care, but so long as it’s just him out there, licking his cock, taking a dick into his mouth for the first time, probably pretty damn bad because not everyone practices on a banana for hours in their room—it gets him hard all over again.

His body flushes, writhing on the bed. Stan bucks into his hand, groaning as he goes up on his knees and pumps himself almost impossibly fast, imagining Kyle bent over just like he was in Cartman’s dining room, pussy round and plump as it burst out from under his messy skirt, swelled the fabric of the panties taut over his balls.

Of course, Kyle didn’t have a pussy, but he did have an ass. And a hole’s a hole, isn’t it?

He’d be tight, wouldn’t he? Probably not a virgin, but he's small and Stan’s pretty thick, so surely it would be a nice fit. “Cunt” nice and snug around his cock, bearing down on him, twitching around his cock buried inside of it.

And if he wore those stockings again, God, Stan would _die._

Kyle rubs his thighs together, reaching under them to thrust the black of the dildo against the white of his thigh highs, thrusting it hard inside of him as he feels himself near to completion.

 _Harder, harder, harder,_ **_faster, faster, faster._ **

Thinking of the garters, his jeans, the panties, his darting eyes, the tits he **_almost_** had, his fingers **_digging_** into his skin.

The passion in his heavy eyes.

The way his lips parted open to let out gasps.

How he saw those dreaded images every time he closed his eyes, could never rid them from his brain no matter how he tried to distract, always brought it up the second they found themselves alone and to themselves.

How he feels like he’s never wanted anything as much as this.

How he’s never _desired_ anything like this.

Kyle slides his hand up his thigh, to pinch his hard nipple, moaning, while he pumps his cock with a firm grasp, groaning and doubling over. Stan fucks his hand harder, harder, pressing his thumb into his glans, pulling the bedsheets with the other as he pants, _“Kyle, Kyle, Kyle–”_

Their climaxes approach, growing tighter, tighter, tighter on the inside, winding like a spring, until it finally _bursts because–_

They’ve never **needed** anything more in their entire lives.

One last flick of their wrists and they cum, bodies going tense as they ejaculate simultaneously mere blocks away, into their hand, onto their apron, what was even the difference?

Either way, panting as they come down from their mind-blowing highs, they’ll have to clean it up.

Kyle drags the dildo from his ass, dripping with strings of lube all the way out as he moans one more time.

Stan wipes his hand with some well-placed tissues upon the night stand, grimacing at the sticky feeling of his own cum.

Their phones suddenly buzz, bringing them both back to reality as they look over to it on their desks, blearily marching over to check them.

Kyle reaches it first, quickly reading:

6:21 PM - Kenny: alright losers

They pant and tremble slightly, legs feeling wobbly, catching their breaths as they watch the dots dance at the bottom of the screen, half-dreading the message.

Stan squints at the message.

6:22 PM - Filthy Pervert: were going to the mall ;)

*****

Kyle’s eating a pretzel, leaning on the glass rail to watch his friends run around the level below like hooligans, enjoying the amusing sight.

And then the rail leans, a pale arm coming into view, ruining his entire day.

“Heyyyy, what’s going on, Broflovski?”

Kyle takes a bite of the soft pretzel and glances to the sunroof, already getting dark. Fucking daylight saving time.

“What do you want, Craig?”

“Well hello, too,” he huffs, barely even flinching as he watches Cartman eat shit after Kenny trips him. “Just wanted to know how you were, is all.”

 _“What?_ What does that mean?” Kyle asks, suspiciously eyeing the football player.

Craig shrugs, taking a sip of his smoothie. “You know. After the party.”

“Hah,” Kyle scoffs. “Of fucking course…” he mutters, beginning to push off the rail.

“Wait a second,” Craig says, no particular rush in his voice but Kyle easily persuaded for some damn reason. “I’m… sure it was weird. All that stuff you said happened.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Don’t fucking remind me. _Fuck weed,_ I _knew_ I shouldn’t have listened to Kenny’s _insufferable fucking whining… 'It's medicinal, bro!' Fucking pot head…”_ He sighs, glancing back up to Craig. “But what? You wanna tell me how to _seduce_ him, that way you cash in, _right?”_ Rips an angry bite of the pretzel. Maybe if it weren’t a soft bread covered in cheese it would work.

“Nah.”

Kyle leans back before snapping forward, extending a leg behind him as he squints at the entirely unaffected man. One of them’s nonplussed, but which depends on if the reader actually knows what “nonplussed” even means.

“You’re full of shit, Tucker!”

“What? Can’t try to help out my fellow homosexual?”

Kyle sticks a tongue out in disgust, not even the aroma of the pretzel can distract. “Never say anything like that _ever again.”_

Craig manages a chuckle. “Really though, I just want to help you, Kyle. I can tell he means a lot to you.”

Kyle tilts his head, looking to the floor as he feels heat run over his body. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He points a finger gun toward Kyle’s stunned face. “And South Park could always use more gay–”

_“I said!”_

Craig legit laughs, shaking his head at the ground before he’s able to breathe again, leaning on the rail to smile at Kyle. “I know, I know. Just couldn’t help myself.”

Kyle slumps down, finishing the last of his pretzel and muttering around it, “Okay, wanna help me be a queer? I wish you luck, Stan’s a lost fucking cause.”

“Hm, well, I don’t think so. He’s obviously not the brightest, not in the best place right now, but I think he can come around. We just have to help him.”

“That sounds _highly_ manipulative…” Kyle frowns.

“You can look at it that way, if you want to. Or you can think of it as being an act of altruism.”

Kyle laughs. _“Altruism?”_

“Sure. He’s obviously bi, you at the very least we can help him realize that part of his identity.”

Kyle eyes Craig warily. “Shouldn’t that be something he discovers on his own?”

“Well, yeah,” Craig says, shrugging into one shoulder. “But he’s had like twenty years to do that and clearly he’s no closer than high school, soooo…”

Kyle watches as Craig extends a hand. Offering a handshake, like Stan’s manipulation was a fucking business deal.

 _“Hmph.”_ Kyle pouts, looking down to see said guy trying to run up the escalator. There were no other people on it, thank God, but still. _Fucking idiot._

And yeah, he always has been a _fucking idiot._ Had the on-again-off-again relationship with Wendy since elementary school so he didn’t have to worry about any hints of being anything but perfectly straight and vanilla, run-of-the-mill. Boring.

As Seinfeld would say of the exact opposite scenario: _not that there’s anything wrong with that!_

But still, fucking _boring._

Especially for Stan, for whom all the warning signs were there. Fell for anime traps and everything.

_Every fucking time._

And _still_ liked them after he learned better.

_Unsalvageable._

“Alright,” Kyle gives with a heavy sigh, taking Craig’s hand in his smaller one, “you’re definitely right. So what should we do? To, uh, help him?”

Craig grins, firmly shaking up and down. God, Tweek’s gonna be so fucking pumped.

“I’m glad you asked, Broflovski.”

*****

Stan was too intimidated by Craig’s quarterback frame blocking out the sun to even ask why in the world he had to go to his house, just running to his mom’s car and tailgating Craig’s van all the way, utterly terrified.

So that’s how he is where he is now, in Craig's room and the only one with our a sleeping bag? Because this was a sleepover? Or? Something?

Craig says as much, walking by him into his room as he claps him on the back hard enough to make him gag.

Craig just shakes his head, waving at the carpet to the four other guys who join him and Tweek in his bedroom.

Again, not weird. If you say it enough, it’s true.

“Alright, you can just throw your shit somewhere.” He pauses, frowning. “But not at my Stripes. Don’t even look at them.”

“Don’t _look_ at them?” Kenny laughs as he throws his down, daring a glance at the guinea pig hidden somewhere.

“They don’t like strangers.”

“ ‘Th-they’, as in, multiple?”

Craig sits on the floor. “Sure. Stripe 4 and 5. They’re supposed to have a friend. Learned that the hard way after the first few, although their deaths were out of my hands, let me say…”

The other guys join him, Stan piping up, “Which one’s the boy?”

Craig leans over to pick up a small red box behind him, murmuring, “They’re both boys.” He huffs, opening the top as he says casually, “ ‘S better they’re both guys. Get along better.” He chuckles, “They like to get into trouble and run around and hump each other sometimes.” Smiles up at them. “But it’s just for dominance. Play sorta thing.”

“Oookay,” Stan mutters, glancing away.

“They do do it an awful lot though… Like Jesus, man…” Tweek trails off.

Craig chuckles, the loud sound of cards being shuffled playing through the room. “Wouldn’t be surprised. A lonely guy, a social animal, no one else in the world but his one buddy. I mean, it’s pretty obvious what happens.”

“Aren’t they fixed?” Kenny asks.

“Neutered, yeah. Course. Otherwise,” he says, beginning to toss out the cards one by one, “they might kill each other with all that pent-up testosterone.”

Kyle frowns, picking up his black cards without really looking at them. “Good analogy, man…”

“What?” Craig says, faux-innocent. “I’m just talking about guinea pigs, don’t know what you guys are thinking. Anyway, let’s play Uno.”

Kyle looks down, same as the rest of them, and it registers only then. And, of course, his hand is looking bad already. Fucking numbers and reverses. “Uno? Really?”

“It’s fun.”

Kyle just shakes his head. Some idea of fun.

“When someone starts to get really mad we can move on to the next game. But right now, I wanna kick ass, so we’re gonna play Uno.”

“Agh, he’s, _really good_ at it!” Tweek mutters next to him, eyes darting at his cards and giving away how surprised he was. Then again, he always seemed surprised, so maybe that would come in handy with poker.

But how could one possibly be good at Uno? They were all wondering. It was just a game mostly of luck, which cards you were dealt, what you drew, when you had to play one and when you had to skip your turn to pick up another instead.

But oh, just a couple games in, and they get it.

Craig demanded they move at a lightning-quick speed, person to person, card to card flying from their hands so it gave them little time to think before the other five people had all played and it was their turn all over again.

Much different from the family Uno they’d played at their houses. No, this was fast-paced, almost heart-racing in how he would glare if your hand took even a second to pick your card. He’d make a fine dictator, that was all Kenny was thinking.

But under the pressure, Craig was surprisingly cool. So was Tweek, despite his murmured cries of _too much_ or whatever, making snap-second decisions which put the other players in a tizzy. Obviously because they’d done this before. Craig had probably trained Tweek.

“How,” Kenny flails over tossing yet another card into the increasingly unstable pile at the middle, “h-how the _fuck_ do you do this?!”

Craig shrugs, playing a wild four. “Blue. And, well, Tricia taught me.”

His little sister taught him how to play Uno.

“Girls can be vicious, especially at card games.”

Makes sense enough, they suppose.

After Craig wins twice, Tweek once, Craig again, and then fucking Butters does, all in the span of a half hour, it’s Kyle who’s of course noticeably seething.

What could they say, guy was a sore loser if ever there was one.

The whole being a short-tempered redhead definitely didn’t look good for the stereotype, either.

So when Craig lets Kenny win by not calling out his last card like he _certainly_ could have, Kyle has it, throwing his hand to the ground and falling back onto the carpet with a groan.

“Not having fun?” Craig asks, committing his best poker face but obviously amused by the giving twinkle in his blue eyes.

Kyle slams a fist on the ground. Oh, _why_ did he agree to this? “No! I’d rather play fucking Monopoly, and the last time I did that, I fucking broke the board in half!”

“Alright,” Craig replies evenly, just gathering all the strewn cards as people drop them, tucking them neatly back into the box that he would have to flour later. Disgusting sticky hands.

“Well, I don’t have Monopoly, so we’ll just have to settle for something else.”

He puts the box back beneath his bed, leaning over to his boyfriend to whisper something to him.

Tweek’s eyes light up, hands grabbing the overflowing sleeves of his pyjamas in pure excitement.

“Oh, I know!” he shouts, “Truth or dare!”

Everyone turns to him, even Kyle peeking through his fingers previously trying to rub his face off.

“Tr-truth or d-dare?”

Kyle gets up, grimacing as he rubs his arm. This seemed like a very bad idea. A very, _very_ bad idea.

Craig just slides a knee up, locking it between his folded fingers as he smiles. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep it nice and fun, not too heavy. If anyone doesn’t want to answer a truth, they just have to do a dare, instead!”

Kenny groans. “Oh, the takesies-backsies, that’s so lame!”

“It’ll be okay. So, I’ll ask Tweek first.”

“Oh Jesus, no!”

Craig pats him on the back a couple times. “It’s okay, honey. Just, truth or dare?”

His hands fly to his head, grabbing at his hair framing his face as he mutters, “I-I don’t know! Oh, there’s too much pr–”

“Just say one. I’ll go easy on you to start with.”

“Dare!” he spits out, instantly regretting it, because oh God, what if it was something horrible and–

“Gimme a hug,” Craig grins easily.

“What?!”

The larger male just opens his arms wide, in an obvious display of being open for an embrace. “You know you want to.”

After a second of hesitation, Tweek folds, knows he very well does. He flies forward and in a millisecond is wrapped up in arms covered in fabric of a cotton jacket, smothered in warmth and solid muscles that make his worries from a moment before melt away like nothing.

They stay like that for a while.

“U-uh,” Butters says from behind them, “I-is it my turn, y-yet?”

Tweek sighs, barely turning his head to murmur more into Craig’s chest than to the room, “Truth or dare?”

“U-ummm,” he hums, finger to his lip before he gasps, “truth!” like it’s the answer to a fucking question.

Tweek lets himself think for a few seconds, mind made a lot less jumpy when he’s caught up in a wonderful embrace, so he quickly comes to the conclusion:

“Do you ever want to move out, of your parents house, I mean?”

An oddly personable question.

Butters just sputters for a moment on air, so Tweek continues, “I thought I never would either, but now, since I have Craig, I know I need to next spring. It’s, it’s gonna be hard, but he’ll be there for me… And plus, I _really_ hate my mom and dad, so that’s a good reason why.”

Butters glances to the side, letting out a nervous chuckle as he realizes the similarities between his and Tweek’s upbringing, the only child complex, the abuse and neglect. Only real difference was that Butters’ parents weren’t seemingly meth heads but made up for that and then some by being genuinely insane, treating his house more like a prison than a safe haven.

Made for some pretty screwy kids, apparent even in their verbal tics.

But even here, in the relative safety of Craig’s home, his stoic parents just downstairs, still watching some show together, combined with Tricia certainly enough to fend off his crazy dad if just for the night, he’s forever uneasy.

He twiddles his thumbs, looking to the window anxiously even though it’s covered in black-out curtains. Always feels like he’s being watched, no matter where the fuck he goes.

“I-I-I d-don’t know… M-Maybe sometimes n-next ye-year…”

Tweek casts a glance over his shoulder, spying out of the corner of his eye Kenny scowling. Poor guy. If only he wasn’t poor as dirt, he’d surely leave this shitty town.

“Up to you. But I’d just say you should really consider it sometime–Now Kenny!”

“Huh?” the other two blondes say at once.

“Gah! Kenny!” he flusters, holding onto Craig’s chest to calm himself. “Ask him truth or dare!”

Butters turns immediately, spitting, “Truth or dare!” in panicked terror.

“Um, truth, Butters!” he says, leaning on a hand and trying for cool.

But Butters’ wide-eyed stare, flustered mouth saying in a flurry so stuttered and rushed he can’t understand it, _“Hhhowwmmanyyatimeshhaaveyyoueeveverhadsex?!”_

It takes him a good few seconds of awkward silence all around them, so thick in sudden discomfort that it nearly threatens to strangle all of them, especially the onlookers. Fuck.

But Kenny gets it eventually. At least, he did his best, because considering what he thinks Butters said, he surely doesn’t want to make him repeat it again. He can’t even fucking look at Kenny, just squeezing his eyes shut with his fingers covering them further, _just in case._

“Seriously?”

“Y-y-yes?” Butters squeaks, voice incomprehensibly small.

“No, I mean, I have to be honest, right? One-hundred percent truthful?”

“It is _truth_ or dare,” Craig says, now just holding Tweek’s hand, moment ruined. “So yes.”

“Okay,” Kenny says, turning right back to Butters.

“Zero.”

“What?” Butters says, swiping his hands off his eyes which go wide only then with shock, the weight of his words settling in slow.

“Zero times.”

“K-Kenny!” Butters stutters in disbelief, “I-I said h-have _sex! Y-You must n-not have h-heard m-m-me!”_

Kenny leans further to the side, grinning. “I heard you alright. And the answer… _is zero.”_

Stan shuts his wide mouth to breathe, “We said tell the truth, Kenny–”

“I am.”

“You are _not,”_ Kyle snaps.

“I _am!_ What do you want me to do, prove my hymen’s still intact? Sorry, guys, but I don’t got physical evidence like that!”

“But you’ve been fucking girls for years!” Stan yells.

Kenny throws his hands up, sputtering wordlessly. “That’s called a rumour, guys!”

They all start to shout over each other, even Craig disagreeing heavily with Kenny.

“Come on dude,” he says, “if you’re gonna lie, you gotta do two dares.”

“I never even said I did any of that! Fucking Cartman started that in fourth grade– _fourth fucking grade!_ What kind of _nine year old_ is _fucking dozens of prostitutes?_ ** _Seriously?_** You think I’m _that_ fucking depraved?”

They all just stare at him.

Because must anything really be said?

Kenny scoffs, snapping his attention back to Butters.

“You believe me, right?”

_“U-uhhhh…”_

Kenny grabs him by the shoulders, growing increasing desperate by the second. “You _have_ to believe me!” he orders more than anything, shaking him by the arms, “I’ve never fucked any girl! Or guy, for that matter! Not even a sex act! Barely even a kiss, really! _Genuinely!_ **Believe me!”**

 _“O-okay!”_ Butters shouts, mostly just to get Kenny to stop throwing him back and forth, making him dizzy.

Kenny grumbles slightly, but lets him go and gasp for breath, crossing his legs as he turns to the right and barks, “Kyle! Truth or fucking dare!”

“Dare.”

“That’s lame, dude! Pick truth!”

Kyle crosses his arms. “After you? No thanks. Just make me do something stupid.”

 _“ ‘After me?’_ What does _that_ mean?” he bites, leaning forward toward the redhead who doesn’t even flinch despite Kenny’s noticeable height advantage. _“You don’t_ **_believe_ ** _me, Kyle?”_

He shakes his head haughtily, sneering. “No, I really don’t. If you’re a virgin, I’m a fucking wizard.”

“Well, congrats, Harry fucking Potter.” He leans so their noses nearly touch, glaring down at him with a fury that suddenly turns lighter, a dark sneer coming to his mouth as he whispers, **_“Now kiss Stan.”_ **

Kyle’s eyes go wide as they physically can, whipping around to look at Stan only to see him still sitting there dumbly, tilting his head as he tries to decipher what Kenny possibly just muttered under his breath.

Kyle grins nervously at him, receiving a wave and then turning back to Kenny.

 _“Truth,”_ he growls.

“Okay. How long have you been in love with Stan, then? I’ll repeat the question and you can answer it nice and loud and detailed so _everyone_ can know– **Hey everyone! Kyle sai–”**

Kyle pulls him back down to shut him up, nerd rage enough to slam him to the ground as Kyle turns around on his ass, kneeling before Stan now who looks up to him, confused.

He hesitates for a second, frozen as he stares at his best friend with an unreadable expression. Was this even better than the truth? Sure, he’d have to spill the whole story and probably cry in shame while doing it, but at least then he wouldn’t have to actually _do_ something, actually have to put his mouth to Stan’s who just looks so innocent and lost right now, oh fucking God, he can’t fucking do any of this, he starts to rise up on his legs to get the fuck out of the room and go sob himself home or some shit when _Craig’s_ voice stops him dead.

“Oh, come on, Kyle!” he yells from behind, slamming a hand on the floor. “Just kiss Stan already!”

**“What?!”**

Or, at least, that’s what Stan would have screamed if not for something obstructing the noise, stopping him mid-word and turning it into a _“Mmph!”_

Kyle’s kissing him.

He’s kissing Stan.

This was un-fucking-believable.

So many years of struggling, of fantasizing, of pining after pining after pining, months of longing, weeks of sexual tension so palpable you could almost cut it with a physical knife.

It was all finally culminating into this one clear, unmistakable thing.

Just a pair of lips barely pushing into his own, both of them so shocked they don’t even do anything but keep it perfectly still, eyes falling shut, shocked and filled with terror so all-consuming it almost seemed mortal, life-threatening.

But it was so _wonderful,_ at the same exact time.

Life-changing, they both knew.

It could never be the same after this. There was simply no way.

No manner of ignoring it, of pushing it under the rug, purposefully pretending it was something it wasn’t. It just wasn’t possible anymore.

Kyle’s lips feel soft on his, trembling as his whole body shakes barely perceptively.

And Stan feels so warm, the musky scent of his cologne washing over Kyle like a wave that he breathes in for dear life, feeling his eyes begin to prick with that familiar sensation of tears.

He smiles just the slightest bit, at what a baby he was? At the fact that this was actually happening? At that this was possibly the biggest hurdle in his life, bigger even than Goddamned Yale?

At that they’d finally gotten over it?

And now it was only a matter of seconds to see what would happen from there on out?

It’s impossible to say, but all he knows is that the mere few seconds they lock lips to do absolutely nothing with it feels like years.

It’s a beautiful feeling, and an awful one at the same time. He can only wonder in the pitch of his mind what Stan might be thinking of this, how he must be feeling.

And when Kyle finally backs up, panting silently, Stan reopens his eyes, and knows.

Because he hardly even fucking remembers a thing.

It was just one moment he was there, the next he was gone.

“Truth,” Stan says, oddly level.

Kyle tilts his head, heart dropping as he feels his fears realized. Fuck, that might have meant the world to him, but clearly Stan didn’t agree. Shit, he fucked it all up, he’d ruined everything, they were never, ever gonna be the same again and it was all his fucking fault–

Stan suddenly surges forward, leaning to the side so his face misses Kyle’s red one, instead tucking straight behind his hair, mouth hidden beneath his curly locks as he whispers into his ear:

_“Ask me if I have a crush on you.”_

Kyle chokes on air, so many feelings stabbing through him that the can’t even begin to process them, so just lets his mouth obey automatically, barely muttering:

“Do you have a… a crush on me, Stan?”

Stan comes back around to face him, grinning from ear-to-ear with that toothy smile as he takes him by the shoulders, letting his hands slide up to cup his chin as he nods.

“Yeah, _I do,_ Kyle. I _always_ fucking have.”

He closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to Kyle’s as he forgets everyone else. Just the two of them, in this otherworldly moment. Nothing else.

“I just didn’t know it yet.”

 **“Okay, well!”** Craig suddenly shouts, jumping up on two legs to shake the entire room and stop them from making out right in front of everyone awkwardly voyeuring their precious moment.

“I think I heard Stan dare me to let all of you play seven minutes in heaven, so that’s what we’re gonna do!”

The two barely even realize what’s happening before they’re out the door and in another, slammed behind them as loud, tinkly music starts to blare from the bedroom.

Kyle blindly feels around the foreign, pitch black room before finding the light switch, flicking it up.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

A storage closet. Barely big enough for the two of them, let alone all the other shit in it. Mostly brooms and other cleaning supplies, bags and whatever.

“Come out when the song’s over!” Comes a shout muffled through a door, then another one slams just to muffle the music further.

But all that muffling be damned, Mariah Carey’s unmistakable voice can still be heard loud as day through the door.

 ** _“IIII~, don’t want a lot for Christmas,”_** she begins, letting them accept for fate in the meanwhile, finding comfortable places to stand that aren’t on empty garbage bags or plastic bristles.

**_“Theeere, is just one thing I need~”_ **

What a fucking choice.

Wasn’t very sexy, obviously, but it was true enough, what with the revelation they had literal minutes ago.

**_“I don’t care about the presents.”_ **

Kyle sighs, taking a step forward but getting his foot caught, making him trip forward and crash right into Stan’s chest, instantly taken up by strong arms.

**_“Uuunderneath~ the Christmas tree!”_ **

Kyle giggles to himself, rising up on his heels but remaining Stan’s warm embrace. Might as well, he excuses, not enough room to stand on his own, apparently.

**_“III~ just want you for my own~”_ **

“I didn’t know you could sing!”

Kyle squints. “I’ve always been able to sing, Stan. Since we were children–”

**_“More than you, could ever knooow~”_ **

“Well not _that_ well!”

Kyle giggles, leaning closer to press their chests together, tap a fingertip on the button of his nose. “You’re stupid.”

“Oh, trust me, _I know_ that by now.”

**_“Make my wish come truuuuueee~”_ **

“How do you even _do_ that?”

“What?”

“You can do the high notes and the runs or whatever and th–”

 **_“All I want, for Christmaaaas~, iiiiiis~ yooooouuuuuu~”_ **Kyle sings along, dragging his smooth nail down Stan’s chest with a giggle.

 **_“Yeah…_ **Okay, I’m not singing anymore.”

Stan chuckles. “But you were _so_ good!”

Kyle shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Stan’s head and leaning in, whispering under the song, “Don’t make me blush, Stan.”

“Oh, I most certainly will, though,” he laughs, leaning their heads together to meet at the forehead, brushing their hair together, then the tips of their noses, angling his head up and–

There meet their mouths.

It’s just the slightest press at first, but it makes them giggle at the same, overcome with a giddy high of pure excitement.

“How have we never done this before?” Stan breathes against his lips.

“We have, but only as a joke,” Kyle sighs, closing his eyes and pressing forward, effectively pinning Stan against the wall with his body. “Only ever as a joke, only ever for a second…”

Kyle’s lips are slightly parted now, panting around his voice tinged with sadness.

Stan doesn’t want Kyle to be sad, not anymore.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”

So Kyle picks truth after all, as well as dare, it would seem.

“For years. Ever since about sophomore year of high school. But even before then, I suppose I’ve always liked you more than I should. More than even _super_ best friends should,” he laughs quietly, hint of bitterness within the lack of smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? For making me feel this way? That’s not your fault, that’s all mine–”

“No,” Stan purrs, pulling Kyle closer to his chest as he slides two larger arms around his back, between his shoulder blades, making him huff out some breath against his lips as he compresses his lungs just right, “For not seeing it. For not taking you seriously. I-I never thought…”

“That I could ever actually _like_ you?”

“Y-yeah…”

Kyle tilts his head so their noses pass, allowing him to press his panting lips deeper into Stan’s, a smile curling his mouth. “The feeling is mutual.”

But it’s obvious as they both surge forward at once, pushing their lips together, sliding them open with huffs and immediately familiarizing themselves with each other’s open mouths.

It doesn’t matter what happened in the past.

Because now, now they were finally together.

And it was all worth it.

Kyle is overcome by this sudden revelation, just as Stan is, their kiss deepening as Kyle moves his leg, taking a step inside Stan’s legs which widen for him.

He makes a sound suspiciously akin to a moan as he tosses his hand up through short black hair, living out his hundreds of fantasies in the flesh while he runs his fingers through the thin strands.

His mouth parts with the quiet noises he can’t help but make, letting Stan’s tongue slip inside it and make him louder, clearly audible in the small chamber of the dim closet.

Kyle tastes like cherries and vanilla, which Stan thinks is weird, because he only ate a pretzel at the mall, right?

But he forgets that quickly when Kyle ruts forward, pressing his hips into Stan’s, sliding his thighs forward and hitching a foot behind his calf to make their bodies completely flush, not even space for air between them anymore.

Stan’s mouth tastes like the breath mint he saw him eat on the walk from his car, nearly slipping on the ice. His giggling at that is quickly stopped when Stan raises his hand into his untameable hair, getting stuck between his red curls so he has to drag through them, sensation on his skull oddly pleasant despite the discomfort.

Perhaps _because_ of the discomfort.

Well, Kyle never really realized this was a thing, but he finds he doesn’t really care as they pant into the kiss, deepening it, sliding their lips against one another, tongues wriggling ever deeper into unexplored territory and claiming every inch of it, bumping together and running alongside the other slippery organ.

Their hips begin to move with the rest of their bodies, rotating until inevitably they’re essentially just grinding on each other, quickly growing hard within their pants.

Kyle whines enough that he slips out of Stan’s mouth when he feels Stan’s achingly hard cock move directly between the crease of his thighs, just a couple layers of thin fabric away from being allowed to slide right between them, all over his body, _fuck–_

Stan feels his heart pounding in his chest as he moves his mouth unconsciously over open skin, blind, but knowing exactly where he’s going in the dark as he feels out Kyle’s lightly freckled skin with his lips alone. He licks the salt from his skin, tasting the cleanliness of his flesh, nipping his teeth in just the slightest bit, unable to stop from sucking down ever-so-slightly as he feels the roundness of a jugular, the length of the tendon in his neck held to the side.

Hand slide down Kyle’s back just as he gets the same idea, running his hands all the way down Stan’s sweater only to run them right back up, but this time one layer removed, able to feel directly the heat of his skin, the twitching of his hard muscles in his back.

He’s skinny but simultaneously so soft under Stan’s hands, feeling small and delicate although he knows intimately he’s not. His skin is flawless, butter soft, pale as anything, smooth and featureless but for the occasional graces of adipose tissue rounding him out over his sides, his hips.

Stan’s hands curve down, snapping under the waistband of Kyle’s little pyjama pants, feeling over that wonderful swell of his ass he’s been begging to touch for a week. A week that felt like years, with the sheer amount of times he’s jerked off to the image, looked back through his memory and through photos, feeling like a creep but unable to shake himself of Kyle’s vivid figure.

God, he was such a fucking dumbass, he thinks as he listens to Kyle moan shakily pressed tight into his neck, feeling up his round ass through his boxers alone. How the fuck did he go years without noticing just how _gorgeous_ his friend really was?

How he wasn’t just someone to hang out with or talk to but someone who he could have always held, could have kissed and touched and fucked for entire years holy shit–

How he was exactly what he was always looking for but could never even begin to look, because he was too busy being distracted?

Too busy _acting?_

Kyle’s lips are suddenly upon his, shattering his thoughts while the redhead circles his pelvis, squeezing his thighs around Stan’s, jutting his cock right up through his pyjamas and into Stan’s pants, leaking like a tap into his boxers, he’s sure.

 _“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!”_ he sputters into Stan’s lips, sounding close, so so so close–

 _“Stan,”_ he begs straight into his mouth, running his hands on abs he’s seen in his dreams for months, tried not to stare at every fucking time they were in the lockers, they went swimming, finally allowed now to explicitly fantasize of, to help him as he bucks his prick into Stan’s one just as hard and throbbing–

_“Stan Stan Stan Stan Stan–”_

Stan peeks his eyes open, choking as he looks down at his depraved friend’s burning face still hanging onto his lips.

_“Ky–”_

**“Kyle!”**

**“Stan!”**

They both bolt upright, startled as they stare at the door still closed but the voice behind it undeniable.

“You are not allowed to fuck in my storage closet. So, whatever it is your doing, either finish it up or get the fuck out and back to my room. We’re gonna watch some shitty movies until someone passes out and then call it a night.”

It takes Kyle a second to sputter, “O-okay! Craig! We’ll be right there, _hahaha!”_

“Whatever,” Craig says blandly, followed by heavy footsteps until they dissipate into some electronic music.

Fuck, Mariah had stopped singing _a while_ ago. And they didn’t even fucking _notice._

Kyle looks down, tutting as he finds himself only semi-erect after that scare of his fucking lifetime.

“Should we just?” Stan’s voice cracks.

“Y-yeah, let’s just go… We can, uh…”

Stan smiles. “Pick up where we left off some other time?”

Kyle blushes pure red as he takes a step back, turning on his heel to hide his burning face. “Uh… yeah–So let’s just, go back, and pretend nothing ever happened!”

There’s a chuckle behind him as he runs his large fingers through the rim of his pyjama pants, snapping it up to its proper height, fixing his sleepy button-up back down over it.

“But we’ll know.”

Kyle puts his hand on the door knob and smiles.

Yeah, _they’ll_ know.

The door clicks open and out they go.

*****

Some terribly unfunny Netflix movies where their commentaries are eons better later and the boys are all tuckered out. Get it, tuckered? Like Tucker? Cause that was his last… yeah…

That’s the calibre of jokes they’re on now. _That’s_ how fucking bone-tired they are at 3 AM.

So all funny’d out, they bring out their sleeping bags. Craig and Tweek call the bed, as they surely have before, but they promise they _won’t_ fuck on it.

_… At least not while everyone’s awake._

Kyle, Kenny, and Butters had all remembered to bring their own bags, and so spread the plush fabric out in all corners of the room.

Stan’s pissed because, no Kenny, he didn’t “forget”, because in case you’re dumb ass forgot, no one really elected to tell him he oughta swing by his house to pick his up because no one even fucking told him where he was _fucking_ going!

They toss him a few pillows in sympathy, scrounge up some old covers from the closet they’d been fucking in—not fucking in, Craig!—okay, not fucking in, but nearly fucking in, and spread them out pathetically on the floor.

An hour or so later with some stupid show playing whisper-quiet on the small barely-lit, red-shifted flat-screen Craig has in his room, white noise from his phone because apparently Tweek literally _can’t_ sleep without it—maybe the guy shouldn’t down a cup of coffee an hour before bed but what does Stan know—and Stan is _still_ fucking awake.

Might be from sleeping in a room with Kenny snoring loud enough to wake the dead, might be the cold, hard carpet digging into his back through the covers no matter how fluffy he makes them, might be the shitty throw pillow that can’t support his neck even an inch, but he can’t fucking take it all anymore.

He growls, sliding out from his shitty knock off bed to go take a piss for the third time that hour.

He knows the way to the bathroom at the end of the hall by heart now, passing by some unused guest room, the now-infamous closet, and some pantry or some shit.

He guesses Tricia and all the rest of them must sleep on the ground floor now, which is probably lucky for Craig and his little boyfriend considering all the horrible shit they must get up to–

No. He will _not_ think of them fucking.

His night was already ruined enough, he didn’t need to fucking scar his brain permanently on top of that.

So he just opens the bathroom door as hard as he dares, flicking the light on restlessly and pacing a few times in the small bathroom before setting his ass on the toilet lid, absolutely fucking defeated.

He puts his head in his hands, sighing low.

He wasn’t going to get _any_ sleep tonight, was he?

What a fucking shame, because he desperately needed it for tomorrow, his family going to go out to some stupid museum or some shit as _“family bonding time”,_ at least that’s what his mother said.

And there was _no way_ he was going to survive hours of staring at historical mementos with his sister who seemed to dedicate her life to making him absolutely miserable, taunting and teasing him the entire time. If he couldn’t defend himself for his lack of sleep, she’d probably pile drive him into the ground, figuratively or literally, he doesn’t know. She claims they’re different now, but he definitely wouldn’t put it past her to knock a vase over and blame it on him.

He rubs his tired eyes, feeling on the verge of fucking tears.

Jesus Christ, what a _pathetic_ fucking _mess_ he was.

He’s about ready to haul himself up and try in vain to return to sleep when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Stan grabs for the metal handle of the toilet brush to his right. He might have to turn it around and the thought of that _was_ disgusting, don’t worry, but he also knew he wasn’t about ready to die just yet.

Instead of being bashed into a robber’s face, however, it simply clangs onto the floor, immediately forgotten.

Red curls stop every thought of his, freezing him in place so thoroughly that, for a moment, it seems even his heart stops.

“Trouble sleeping?” the redhead asks softly, peering around the corner with green eyes that sparkle in the white light.

Stan finally exhales before realizing what a buffoon he must look like, so straightening his back immediately, hands down to his lap. “Kyle!” he whisper-shouts, kind enough, hopefully. “Uh, yeah, I am just a bit. You too?”

“Mm, not really. Was sleeping pretty fine but I’m a light one, so when I heard you get up it woke me up…”

“Oh!” Stan gasps, “I’m sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” Kyle stops him short, glancing from his face to the mirror. “Just, uh… Have you gotten _any_ sleep yet?”

“You don’t have to worry about me–”

 _“Yes I do, Stan,”_ Kyle snaps, haughty expression melting to a softer one in seconds. “Look, if we’re gonna be… _whatever_ we are now, with the bed stuff from before and the closet thing a few hours ago…”

They’re both blushing pure red now.

“There are some things I could do to help. Other than making you down a bunch of Nyquil.”

Stan sighs. “Well, I couldn’t find any, so… maybe… _maybe you’re right, Kyle…”_ He can barely even manage to say it, but grits his teeth and bears it, watching the way Kyle’s head tilts, his body rises from leaning on the door frame to go into the bathroom just a little bit.

 _“Yeah?”_ he asks, pushing of the door to lock it shut behind himself, back pressing it closed as it locks audibly.

Stan shakes his head though, chuckling self-consciously. _“Really, here,_ though? Craig would fucking kill me if he found out!”

“He won’t, Stan. You just have to be quiet and clean up afterward.”

Kyle takes a few steps confident enough toward him, stopping just a bit short.

“And if you can’t be quiet, I’ll make you.”

Stan raises his brow. A tempting offer, for sure.

But there’s a pause, Kyle just looking to his feet as he shifts awkwardly. “H-how should we–”

Stan looks to the side, patting the edge of the bathtub.

“Easy enough,” Stan says, staring at Kyle’s feet covered in white socks as he makes his way to it.

“N-now…” Kyle breathes, face burning so hot he felt he might catch a fucking fever from it, sputtering, _“should I just–jerk you off–or–”_

Stan reaches over to pat Kyle’s hand, looking him in the eyes with a calm expression.

“It’s alright, Kyle,” he smiles, getting one in return soon enough, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out together, just like we always have with _everything.”_

Kyle nods, pleased.

Stan invisibly wipes the sweat from his forehead. Wow, it actually seemed like he had even the _slightest_ bit of control on this _absolutely terrifying_ situation!

Of course, he’s been jerked off before. Just from Wendy, and even then not really that many times considering how long they’ve been together, how “in love” they seemed.

Probably only a couple dozen times, honestly.

Now _that_ was pathetic.

Stan looks down to his grey pants to see that he’s already half-hard in them, feeling immediately ashamed, hiding his face from Kyle.

Kyle chuckles next to him, although he’s still obviously nervous as well as he lays a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his fingers over his muscle as he says, “It’s okay, man. That’s what I’m here for!”

Stan laughs awkwardly, but feels his worries begin to dissipate.

Kyle glances down to Stan’s lap, feeling odd for staring at it directly, but he reminds himself of what he literally just said. This was alright now. It was acceptable.

“Do you wanna start, or whatever?” he barely spits out, pointing half-heartedly to Stan’s tent growing stiffer by the second.

“Uhm, I don’t know…”

“Well, just, do you want me to, to, take them off?”

“Huh?” Stan asks dumbly.

Probably just from the shock of the imagery, but Kyle gets irritated anyway, letting it spur him on to snap, “Do you want me to take your pants off over your boner or do you want to do it?”

“You!” Stan instantly replies to Kyle’s anger before even fully processing the ramifications of such an answer.

Kyle leans forward, and the second his finger make any semblance of contact with an atom of his fucking pants, Stan knows he’s totally made the wrong decision.

But Kyle just pushes on despite Stan’s sudden gasp, feeling his blood pump through his brain, fingers seemingly moving of their own accord to work their way into his waistband, feeling the flesh to the other side so he bites his lip. So hot. Literally and metaphorically. Oh God.

They both watch as Kyle’s thin fingers bring the material slowly down, past his hip bones, down his thighs, until they struggle to get over the mound of fabric directly at his crotch.

It’s obvious, undeniable now.

Just how _hard_ he is, fully erect in his cotton pants, so large it makes it hard for Kyle to pull the fabric up and over his cock, finding it’s just getting bunched over it, keeps happening, so, _fuck–_

He reaches a hand fully under Stan’s pants directly over his crotch, tucking his fingers in and feeling hot flesh pressed to his knuckles, and he knows immediately what it must be.

Stan’s cock.

He snaps the pants and the elastic of his briefs over his dick with ease, revealing for the first time his best friend’s fully hard, aroused cock into the open, there for his eyes to devour.

Obviously larger than his own which twitches in his pyjama pants, Stan’s cock is uncircumcised, flush and still swinging in the air with the momentum of being freed.

Absolutely delicious.

But Kyle stops the drool which begins to salivate in his mouth at the sight, clearing his throat as well as his head as he takes a hand and uses that spit into his palm.

“Oh,” he says a second too late, “you want me to do it, r–”

 _“Yes! Yes, Kyle, please!”_ Stan begs in a hurried whisper, leaning back on the toilet seat and feeling his cock throb harder than he swears it ever has in his life, watching his faithful friend slick his hand up with his own spit, stare down at his cock with something almost like fucking _admiration._

Kyle tentatively stretches his right hand out, trembling slightly with fear and adrenaline both as he brings it over Stan’s crotch, ghosts it around his huge cock.

Okay, it’s not _that_ huge, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 6 and a half inches at best, certainly nowhere near as thick as a beer can.

But it looked huge to Kyle, and that’s all that matters.

He slowly wraps his fingers around Stan’s cock at the base, just over his balls but not daring to touch those either.

This was all way too fucking much, but he knows he can do it. 

It’s just like jerking himself off, just a slightly different angle, a slightly different cock, a bigger, thicker, veinier cock, already leaking a bead of precum at the tip as he flicks his eyes up to it, _and oh fuck he couldn’t fucking do this at all–_

A hand suddenly wraps around his own, larger fingers blanketing Kyle’s smaller ones and pressing them flush around Stan’s throbbing cock, despite Kyle’s silent pleas shifting their handhold down to press all the way down, resting on his balls, the warm skin of his crotch covered in black hair only slightly unruly.

Holy shit, Kyle was actually doing it. Actually touching Stan’s dick. And it was all too real to be a dream, his breathing too laboured, the world too bright. It was _actually fucking happening._

Stan groans quietly under his breath, unable to stop from shifting his hips on the toilet, dragging his cock through Kyle’s still fingers.

It didn’t even make sense, why this was so fucking hot to Stan.

Wendy’s fingers were just like Kyle’s, maybe even a little softer, longer.

Shouldn’t he have found her just as sexy, when she would throw her long black hair down her naked back, drive her nails painted purple down his cock, flick back up with practised ease?

It made absolutely no sense to him, couldn’t even begin to, so Stan just takes Kyle’s hand and squeezes, running his spit-slick palm up his shaft, running over inches of sensitive skin until it reaches his glans, Kyle able to feel the foreign slide of a foreskin as it bunches just the slightest over his crown.

Stan really has to bite his lip to keep from moaning loud as Kyle begins to hesitantly move his fingertips on his own, sliding them just the slightest bit over his cock head, around the flushed tip of his end just because he himself knows how good it fucking feels.

It made absolutely no sense at all. Kyle’s nails weren’t even painted as he looks down and seethes in pleasure, they were short and rounded at the end.

But clearly, _clearly,_ Stan’s dick doesn’t fucking care.

As he pumps them back down his aching cock, he lets out a shaky sigh, and his brain just begins to connect things.

Maybe it wasn’t that his dick didn’t care, maybe it was that it actually _did._

Just in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t obvious femininity that he’d liked this entire time, no.

It was the fact that it was Kyle doing that. Kyle, an obvious man, dressing up in girl’s clothes, looking wicked as sin as he did so, strutting around in _stockings and heels and dresses and_ **_fuck–_ **

Stan chokes a moan down as Kyle begins to move on his own back up his length.

He’s such a _fucking idiot._

It wasn’t even necessarily the femininity, as was obvious now, Kyle looking like any regular guy as he bites a canine into his lip, staring with heavy eyes down at Stan’s leaking cock.

It was the _taboo._ The sin. The wrongness of it all.

Not just fucking a guy, no. Not just fucking a feminine guy, either, although that was certainly a nice twist.

It was fucking his best friend.

His best friend who he’s always harboured feelings for, when he looks back.

The one he trusted most in the world, who he left to the wayside in favour of some girl who he thought stole his heart, his whole life. Who just pretended to care about him and his happiness, just keeping up appearances.

She was the one who was acting, of course.

It’s all so clear to him now.

And with all that horrible baggage finally lifted, he can fully enjoy the autonomous hand job Kyle’s small hand now gives him zealously, fist pumping up and down his cock slick with his saliva and precum both.

Both of them pant as the seconds wear to minutes, Stan beginning to buck his hips, twist them into Kyle’s hold on his cock, letting his own hand fall of to grip the toilet lid. Have to clean that later, he barely remembers before it’s cut off by a shock wave of pleasure.

He lets out a loud groan for but a millisecond before Kyle’s other hand is slapped over his mouth, a stern look in his eye as he meets Stan’s gaze.

But fuck, Kyle realizes as he looks into Stan’s eyes. They’re glossy, distant, staring not past him but right _into_ him somehow. So fucked out he transcends reality, almost.

 _Almost._ Because Kyle wasn’t high enough to take weird shit like that seriously now.

 _“Kyle,”_ Stan breathes, spreading his thighs on the seat as he fucks his cock straight into Kyle’s tight fist, hard as he dare for the lid squeaking beneath him, but fuck, he’s close, so _fucking_ close.

 _“Stan,”_ Kyle gasps right back, pumping him faster, harder, flicking a thumb over his slit leaking streams of pre to wet the rest of his shaft, feeling his cock pulse in his hand, jump as he nears orgasm.

 _“Stan,”_ he pants, leaning in to press his body on Stan’s shoulder, watching him fuck mindlessly into his hand.

 _“I've thought of this so many times, you have no idea, Stan, oh God,”_ Kyle whimpers, teasing his lip, _“it's so fucking hot that you're gonna cum into my hand, all over it–”_

 ** _“Fuck!”_** Stan shouts as he cums, too overcome with the emotional and mental stimulation of the biggest fucking climax of his life to stop himself.

Thank fuck there was at least one clear-minded— _more or less anyway_ —adult here, who slaps his hand over Stan’s mouth the second the **_Fu_** comes out, muffling the rest of his moan into his palm.

The other still upon his cock shifts up, cupping over the top of it to catch his streams of ejaculate, make it a little easier to clean up when all was said and done.

Stan pants as the white-hot electricity drains out of him, feeling about a million times better.

And sleepier, all the sudden.

But he’s just barely still conscious enough to remember his friend now washing his hands off in the sink, already turning to open the door when Stan suddenly stops him, snapping up his own pants and briefs over his softening dick on the way.

“Don’t you wanna go to bed now, Stan?” Kyle asks, brows furrowed, still flicking water from his fingertips.

Stan just grins, moving forward until his thighs push into Kyle’s, forcing his ass against the bathroom counter behind him.

“I think there’s some more _pressing_ matters at hand, right now,” Stan says with a sneer, glancing down to Kyle’s obvious erection through his pyjama pants.

 _“Oh my_ **_God,_ ** _Stan,”_ Kyle huffs, “that was _so fucking cheesy_ I’m _seriously_ wondering if there’s a cameraman behind the shower curtain…”

“Hey!” Stan frowns, “I’m trying my best to be sexy, okay? I’m not… not very good at it, obviously…”

Kyle shakes his head. _Fucking idiot._

He then smiles at Stan, tilting his head so his red locks fall over his eyes, all backlit by the dim lights above the mirror like a halo. “You don’t have to _try_ to be sexy, Stan. It just happens. If you have to force it,” he giggles, grabbing Stan’s hand by the wrist, _“you aren’t doing it right.”_

They both gasp when Kyle brings Stan’s hand to his cock, Kyle’s back arching in a curve and pressing his ass further into the rounded counter edge, thighs squeezing together.

 _Hm, yeah,_ Stan can see what Kyle means. The way his mouth parts, eyes rolling back already in obvious pleasure, entire body tensing and squeezing together at his slight touch.

Certainly sexy and not even an _ounce_ of effort.

 _Mmm,_ Kyle thinks, the weight of Stan’s fingers heavy and warm on his dick, not much in the way of actual physical pleasure for the lack of movement, but so fucking hot because, again, Kyle has been thinking of this for literal _years._

And his hand might be alright, his dildo and stockings good for getting him off, but nothing, _nothing,_ compared to actually being touched.

Okay, Kyle may be _a little_ touch-starved…

 _Okay,_ **_really_ ** _fucking_ touch-starved.

But that wasn’t _his_ fault. That was _Stan’s_ stupid fault.

But at least now the dummy is finally touching him, beginning to roam his fingertips up and down his package, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft cotton of his pyjamas.

 _“St-Stan,”_ Kyle whispers, prompting said man to look up to him expectantly. “Y-you have to… be careful…”

“Why?” Stan asks, dumbly.

Kyle rolls his eyes, squeezing his thighs further as he feels his dick twitch in his pants.

 _“I’m… getting it_ ** _dirty.”_** Still a tired dullness to Stan's eyes. No recognition through that thick skull of his.

“I’m gonna _fucking_ ** _cum_** in a few seconds if you don’t stop, Stan!” Kyle seethes as his face burns.

Stan’s eyes immediately widen. “Oh!” he says, ripping his hand away. “Sorry, Kyle!”

“It’s okay,” Kyle mutters. “I liked it, it’s just… I don’t wanna make even more of a fucking mess in my boxers than I have to…”

Kyle bites his lip, flicking his gaze between Stan’s bright blue eyes down to the tent in his pants.

“But you can just,” he whines, guiding Stan’s hands to the band of his pyjama bottoms, “take them off, and finish it for me… _if you want.”_

Stan’s smiling when he looks back up. “Of course I _want_ to, Kyle. I’d never leave a guy hanging, ‘specially not my best friend in the entire world!” he says, leaning in with every word.

 _“O-oh-okay–”_ Kyle stutters joyously before being cut off.

By Stan’s lips, back over his own, warm and wet and _just fucking right._

Kyle moans into his mouth as it opens, letting his tongue slide over Stan’s, curl around it as his lower attire is dragged down.

It doesn’t get bunched up near as much over his prick, organ being smaller and the fabric looser and all, but Stan still decides to press his thumb over Kyle’s bare groin. Just for the sake of theme or whatever.

Pulling the clothing down to his hips, Stan instantly wraps his large hand around Kyle’s cock at the middle, making him moan raggedly between his lips.

Kyle leans back a little, sputtering out, _“O-oh, fuck, Stan!”_

His head falls back, bolts of pleasure right up his spine as Stan quickly begins to work his cock.

Stan finds it easier, fucking his fist around Kyle’s slighter prick, obviously cut and fully red because of it, slick only from the precum which fortunately leaks readily from his tip.

Stan leans forward to bite Kyle’s lip back up, panting similarly into his mouth from arousal. He’s cum too recently to get it up quite yet, but give him a minute and he’ll certainly be there.

Thankfully, though, it seems they won’t have to deal with that tonight, because Kyle’s already trembling against Stan, pressing his hips shakily into his pumping hand.

He does his best to meet the kiss, twirl his tongue round Stan’s, but finds it so damn hard as he’s overcome with pleasure, turning his small breaths to loud moans only made acceptable by being muffled by Stan’s mouth.

He ruts his ass against the counter top, bucks his hands into Stan’s tight, fast fist pumping from base to slit, Stan’s other hand coming up to run over the top of Kyle’s cheeks rendered bare.

Finally, he gets to feel the plumpness of his ass, the thick padding of fat that gives easily beneath his fingers that squeeze into it.

“You gonna cum already, Kyle?” Stan breathes against his lips, smiling teasingly.

_“S-soon, ah, fuck! Stan!”_

Stan growls into his mouth, ripping out suddenly so a string of spit connects their mouths becoming slick with drool, similar to Kyle’s cock covered in cum as Stan fucks his hand down against his balls.

“Cum, Kyle, you know you want to already.”

 _“N-no,”_ Kyle whines, filled with shame that burns his entire body. Fuck no, he couldn’t possibly cum, not yet. Not after only getting a handy for one fucking minute, holy shit–

“Cum. Cum, Kyle, cum like you know you want to, you know you fucking need to!”

“I _can’t–”_

Stan practically growls, biting his friend's lower lip until it hurts, pressing him against the counter with hips, bulging legs, spreading Kyle's thighs with one of his own which rubs up hard on his seizing balls.

 _“You’ll fucking_ **_cum_ ** _when I say to, Kyle!”_

Kyle just moans, barely able to support himself by his hands pushing into the counter, let alone form fucking coherent words.

Stan pumps his hand mercilessly hard, pressing down into his balls squeezed by the solid muscle of Stan’s thigh, making Kyle whimper, turning into a moan of confused pleasure.

Stan snaps into Kyle’s mouth, dripping with spit into his open lips.

**_“Cum.”_ **

Kyle whines into Stan's tongue, feeling utterly defeated as he does just that, hips writhing as his cock jumps, spurting ejaculate right into Stan’s waiting palm.

For a few seconds Stan just catches it, filled with an odd emotion.

It’s not pride, not joy, not even happiness.

Just pure satisfaction. Something instinctual, basal.

He looks down to Kyle’s face still contorted in orgasm, face flushed pink, lips parted right next to his own and panting like he’d just run a fucking marathon, eyes barely peeked open to reveal glossy, unworldly eyes.

Feeling something even stranger than the carnal pleasure.

Something like pity, like pure sympathy. Like he looks down on Kyle, like watching a pathetic creature barely managing to work through the simplest task.

Like he was better than him.

Superior.

Like he fucking owned him.

Stan frowns, shaking his head and leaning back to rid himself of these truly disgusting thoughts.

 _No._ No, this was all fucking wrong.

He, he got _way_ too ahead of himself.

That’s it, he was just caught in the moment. Just a fluke thing, he thinks to make his frown twitch away. A mistake that will surely never happen again.

Horrible, he feels horrible. Definitely should. To own another person? Especially _Kyle?_ It was ridiculous, unthinkable–

“That,” a much more lucid Kyle suddenly pants, looking up to Stan with a fucking gleaming smile, still fucked-out but clear joy lighting his eyes, “that was the hottest fucking thing _ever.”_

 _Oh_ **_fuck._ **

Stan was absolutely _fucked._

*****

“Oh my God.”

“Gah, _huh?”_

“Oh. My. God.”

 _“What?_ Jesus!”

Craig just points over the bed, prompting his boyfriend beside him to lean up and over his huge shoulder, hair ridiculously tosseled but he doesn’t give a fuck.

“That… that’s kinda fucked.” he says, staring at Kyle and Stan both cuddled up in Kyle's sleeping bag. Arms tangled together, odd smiles plastered on their sleeping faces.

“Kinda?” Craig huffs, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed just a foot away from a peacefully snoozing Butters.

“They _better_ not have fucked in my house, or I swear to fucking God…”

“Oh!” Tweek gasps, holding a hand over his pyjama’d chest not covered by the weighted blanket. “They would never do that! Agh, they aren’t fucking animals, man!”

“I don’t know, babe,” Craig sighs, rubbing his eyes from the sun that pours in even through the curtains. Why couldn’t it be a blizzard this morning? “I don’t trust them. Newly-weds and shit.”

 **“Alright, fuckers!”** Craig shouts, surprising even his jumpy boyfriend who’d been fully expecting it. **“Get the fuck up and get the** **_fuck_ ** **out of my house!”**

A few minutes later and Butters and Kenny have successfully fled the house, greeted and waved off by a few groggy middle fingers.

But Stan and Kyle remain, still too sleep-deprived to function at full capacity, it seems.

So Craig leans back from wishing the Stripes a good morning. “If you fucked in my bathroom,” he says in his deep voice, making everyone instantly stop their movements at his chilling tone.

He turns, squinting. “I will **fucking kill** _both_ of you. And that’s a **_fucking promise.”_**

Oh _shit._

Even though he said that while stroking his fluffy, squeaking puffball of a guinea pig, it was still hauntingly intimidating. Even to Tweek, shoving himself into the corner of the bed, who’s not even _remotely_ to blame here.

They both pack the fuck up and are out of their in a single minute, barely a middle finger flung before they’re out in the cold.

“F-fuck,” Stan says on the porch, still pulling his mitts on. “Think he knows?”

Kyle rolls his eyes.

“Of course he does. And I bet it was _you_ telling me to _cum,”_ he mutters, stepping off the porch.

 _Now that, right there,_ Stan thinks bitterly, _is fucking cold._

_And there’s a negative ten wind chill right now._

_… But it was also… kinda… almost fucking…_ **_hot…_ **

_Fuck,_ Stan needs to go numb his brain in modern art, **as soon as** **_fucking_ ** **possible.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> The story is pretty much just sex with hints of plot from here and out. I hope that is acceptable. ^^


	6. Let’s Be Naughty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ah, and with the fireworks show over, no one wants to hang out on a hill at twelve in the fucking morning in zero degree weather, it seems._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Alright, here’s the first time for the 1st day of 2020! Happy New Year! :D 
> 
> Also, literally half of this chapter is just one sex scene! Jesus Christ, how do I even do this?! Lmao

_December 30th, 2019 - Monday_

1:02 PM - Super Best Friend Forever!: heyyy man you wanna go somewhere together soon?

Kyle stares at his phone for a solid _minute_ before deciding he should just type something already.

Oh thank God, Stan thinks as he sees his phone light up on his desk, frantically scrambling to get it. He had to mentally prepare himself for an entire _hour_ before he could say fuck it and send that disaster of a message.

1:03 PM - SBFF :D : I don’t know, do you really want to?

Kyle bites his lip as he stares at the thing he just sent. What did that even mean? He just meant, like, if Stan wanted to, he definitely would, but now it’s looking like it might mean something else and–

_Fuck._

_He should delete it._

**Quick, Kyle!** You only have a fraction of a second before– _And it’s too fucking late._

**_Fuck._ **

1:04 PM - Super Best Friend Forever!: idk we dont have to lol i do have stuff im supposed to do so maybe later!

God, Stan just wants to fucking end his miserable existence already, slamming the phone down as he tries and fails to submerge himself into a video about some fucking video game.

But he just can’t. He just keeps glancing to his phone every half second, waiting for it to flash, to vibrate, to fucking do anything.

_Oh._ Kyle thinks.

_Well._

1:05 PM - SBFF :D : Oh, that’s alright, Stan! My family’s going out so maybe tomorrow?

1:05 PM - Super Best Friend Forever!: sure!

Stan just slams his fingers down on the phone and hits enter as fast as is humanly, non-typoingly possible.

And then regrets it intensely, of course.

So curt, so rude, and now Kyle wouldn’t reply any more and oh God he’s such a fucking idiot.

He hides his face in his knees as he places his phone back on his night stand.

_He doesn’t even actually have anything to do today._

The fucking pathetic, spineless man. Finding the slightest excuse to get out of a very slightly potentially damaging experience.

Kyle slaps a hand over his face in red hot misery. Why was he so fucking stupid? Why say that _shit?_ He was literally just gonna stay home and now he has to wait an entire day and–

**God.**

**Fucking.**

**Dammit.**

_How to ruin two dudes’ entire fucking days in 3 minutes or less._

*****

_December 31st, 2019 - Tuesday_

Alright, Stan. It’s 8 AM, you just woke up— _fuck you’re already such a failure why did you not wake up at 7 like we promised_ — **no!** He will _not_ do this weird talking to himself in his head thing!

He reaches over to his night stand, instantly hitting the message button and finding Kyle’s DMs.

Stan renamed him last night to make it more official, hopefully spur him into some action.

Also because he was bored out of his fucking mind trying to play Red Dead and failing horribly.

Kyle sighs as he’s finally done putting on his clothes, fresh from the shower which he was too anxious during to even jack off a little bit. And that’s saying something, considering he’s done it almost ritually since giving Stan that hand job, oh God, that hand job. Maybe he would have to jerk off after all–

No. He was texting this guy and meeting up with him. To fucking day.

Could just be an innocuous date at some nice restaurant, nothing particularly PDA involved.

Could be an excursion to some far-off location in one of their cars, nice and toasty and safe against the bitter wind outside, allowed to do whatever the fuck they wanted within the sanctity of the cramped vehicle.

_Whatever_ the **fuck** they _wanted._

Okay, yes, Stan _had_ to do this now.

He brings his fingers down upon the screen, right over the h button.

And the second he does, he sees dots at the bottom of the screen appear.

They both are horrified, absolutely frozen in time and space until the dots on their respective phones disappear.

_But the damage is done._

What was the other guy saying? Why did he stop?

Was he saying something important, like oh, my dog died, gotta go to the vet today and I’ll be _really_ sad if you say something to me like let’s go on a date, Kyle!

Was it something more innocent like gotta watch Ike, but still, if you offer something like going to a buffet and then I can’t I’ll be really fucking pissed at you for at least a week, because you know that’s how I get sometimes, Stan.

The hypotheticals just keep flying, somehow getting even deeper and deeper, spiralling into a horrid depression within seconds.

Nope.

They fling their phones onto their beds.

Later.

*****

The same thing happens exactly three and a half hours later by some cruel miraculous circumstance, and by then they figure it’s too late.

There’s a New Year’s party in just eleven hours.

_Eleven hours._

**Eleven.**

**Entire.**

**Hours.**

Dear God, why were they such **_idiots?_ **

*****

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

Kyle scoffs into his scarf.

“Like fucking hell I do, Tucker. Fuck off. Case you’ve gotten one too many concussions, that was Stan, not me.”

Craig huffs a single chuckle, heaving as he pulls himself up onto the bonnet of someone’s pickup truck—the _“hood”_ some might call it—to sit beside Kyle.

“I know that, redhead. Was a joke.” He presses his lips to one side. “See you clearly aren’t in the mood to _take that,_ though. Something happen?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “No, nosy fuck. First Kenny, now you, what the fuck.”

Craig shrugs. “What can I say? We’re all very invested. Ah, what a beautiful love story. Met in kindergarten, best friends all throughout high school, the girl finally breaks up with him and leaves him open for his real _soulmate._ Like a fucking novel.”

Kyle grumbles. “Well, we’re doing fine, thanks.”

Craig leans in, eyes lidded in suspicion beneath the light of the waxing moon. “Yeah? _Were you two?”_

Kyle groans. “Oh, for the last fucking time, Craig, we didn’t do anything in your fucking house! That’s awful, we would never defile a storage closet nor a bathroom, let alone one that isn't our own!”

Craig shakes his head. “I don’t believe you, Kyle. But whatever, it’s gonna be a new year in just half an hour. New chances. So I’ll let it slide.”

“Alright! So, leave me alone, cash your money from all those fucking bets, and we’ll all go our separate ways.”

Another shake of his pitch hair. “Not that easy, Kyle. Never that easy. With my advice, ‘Just be yourself, man.’, I basically saved your entire life. So you owe me.”

**_“What the fuck happened to new chances just a second ago?!”_ **

“You get **one** new chance. So, either I kill you or you do me a favour. The favour will not be killing you, by the way. So I made the choice for you. You’ll like it, trust me.”

Kyle pinches his forehead, but waves him on.

“Just tell everyone that you’re dating.”

**_“What?!”_ **Kyle snaps.

Craig grins easily. “Tell the entire world you and Stan are together. Shouldn’t be that hard. Just a post, a picture, something cheesy like ‘just hooked up with my SBFF after a decade and a half!’. It’ll get tons of likes, maybe even go viral.” He has this weird dreamy expression on his face. Fucking creepy.

Kyle growls. “You’re fucking nuts, Craig. No fucking way in hell.”

“What? It’s gonna happen eventually.”

Kyle just scoffs.

Craig laughs humourlessly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans forward, making the entire truck shift under his weight of almost pure muscle. “You _really_ think you can hide this shit from your family for your entire life, Kyle? You’re seriously that naïve and childish to imagine that that is even remotely possible for more than a fucking month? You think somehow you’re going to keep it from your close-knit, mutual bunches of friends and family, that you’re screwing with your best friend?”

He smirks at Kyle’s mile-long stare into the grass.

“That’s what I thought. So just let the cat outta the bag already. You’ll make everyone much, much happier, trust me.”

Kyle sits there for a few quiet seconds, only the light chatter of their extended friends around them and the quiet howling of the wind up so high distracting his thoughts, otherwise letting Craig’s message sink in loud and clear.

And then he starts to shake his head, faster, more furious with every pass. **_“No,”_ ** he snaps, “no, you’re a fucking asshole, Craig! You only want me to fucking do this so then you can get all that _fucking money!_ So then when he _breaks_ up with me, he– **everyone** will just fucking **laugh** at me. _No,_ **_no no no no!”_ **

Craig furrows his brow, moving his hand to Kyle’s knee as he breathes, “That isn’t true, Kyle. None of that is true. You know that.”

But Kyle just slaps his hand away, scooting away and off of the bonnet as he bites into the frigid air, “No! I don’t fucking know anything for sure. He _sure_ might have _fucking_ liked me at your house but he hasn’t talked to me again since then! And even if he fucking does, who’s to say if he’ll still like me after that! A week, a month, a year, who fucking knows before he gets fucking bored with me–”

Craig just watches as Kyle runs off into the night, voice breaking on obvious sobs.

God, talk about a fucking drama queen.

Tweek hops up on the truck just then, a fresh cup of coffee near midnight making him even jumpier than usual. “What’s going on, honey pie?”

Craig shakes his head, grabbing Tweek's twitching hand and looking up to the stars in wonder. “I fucking knew it, babe.”

_“They_ **_did_ ** _fuck in your bathroom?”_

He nods miserably. “Freudian slip and everything. He’s such a bad liar you can tell even in text messages.”

Tweek giggles, visibly trembling even after Craig pulls him into his arm.

Probably not from the cold, but Craig had ensured there wasn’t any trace of meth this time, so it must just be some really strong caffeine…

_Or,_ **maybe** he's just _that_ excited for a snuggle.

“Well,” Tweek purrs, “at least it’s not the first time the bathroom’s had to see something like that…”

Wow.

_Okayyyyy._

Craig’s eyes widen, looking down at messy blonde hair.

He could say that dirty shit and not even blink? He must really be getting bette–

**“Gah!”**

_“Hey Stan,”_ barely grumbles a Cartman above his Switch. “What’s up?”

“Where’s Kyle?”

“Never mind.” He grimaces, taking a step to the right and closer to the cliff edge. “Get the fuck away from me, you fag.”

Stan frowns. “That’s not very nice, Cartman.”

Cartman puts a hand up, other still managing to play his loud game. “Sorry, man, just don’t wanna catch anything.”

Well.

At least Stan wasn’t _that_ stupid.

“Where is he? I’ve been looking all around and I just _can’t_ find him…”

Cartman throws his hands up, nearly tossing his Switch off the cliff as he does so. “Fuck me, I don’t know! _Or- no, do_ **_not_ ** **fuck me!”**

Stan pouts. “Cartman, I’m being serious. I’m worried about him. I’ve been trying to text him the past few days but he just keeps acting weird, so we haven't been able to meet in a while… Aw, did I do something wrong?”

“Hopefully. If you two gays don’t break up within the next month I’m going to literally kill myself.”

Stan sighs, unfazed and just leaning back on his car parked on the pavement. “I screwed it all up, didn’t I? Oh, God, I bet it was that BDSM thing…”

Stan slowly looks over to see Cartman grimacing as though in _literal agony,_ stunned silent so he can only shake his head back and forth, traumatized.

“Oh, my bad, dude! Ah, fuck, I’m _really_ sorry for that imagery, I bet you _totally_ don’t wanna think about us doing anything _remotely_ **_sexual_ ** _alone,_ let alone _together,_ let alone doing _kinky shit like me accidentally ordering him to cu–”_

**“Stop!”** Cartman literally _sobs,_ reduced to a ball on the ground as he rocks back and forth on the grass. **“Oh God, just stop, Stan! This is worse than a class of God damn PE!** ** _What torture!”_** He beats the Switch over his head, tears of pain streaming down his face. **“Mental torture! Scarification! I will never be the same again–”**

“God, I know he beat you, Cartman, but don’t be _that_ pathetic.”

Cartman and Stan both snap up at the voice, one terrified and one beaming as they see his red hair, green eyes.

**“Kyle!”** the two say at once.

Then Cartman goes off, **_“Actually,_ ** **your fucking awful** **_boyfriend_ ** **just told me all about your little hellish sex exploits,** **_Kahl,_ ** **so don’t worry about that! Now I just need to find some fucking** **_drain cleaner_ ** **to destroy that part of my brain and I should be all good!”**

Cartman snaps the Switch up in his hand, hissing as he stomps off to go pester someone else about his woes.

Kyle glances at Cartman, then to Stan. Back to Cartman, back to Stan.

And then he just stares.

“Did… did Cartman just call you my _boyfriend?”_

_“He was joking!”_ Stan sputters, grin way too wide. “Just joking, oh, you know him! Such a funny guy, haha! And that whole telling him about the dom sub thing, he was just kidding!”

Kyle tilts his head, frowning. “ 'Dom sub thing?' He just said ‘hellish sex exploits’.”

“Oh, I was just, building on his story!” Stan chuckles.

Voice way too high.

Kyle scowls.

“You fucking idiot, Stan!” Kyle spits, whipping his finger at Stan’s chest like a slighted girlfriend. “What did we say that night after we exchanged hand jobs? _No. Fucking. Telling!”_

_“I’m sorryyyyy!”_ Stan whines, putting his hands up. “I’m a fucking retard, I know I am! It’s just, he was there, and I had no idea where you were, and I was desperate and started to do that word vomit thing I do sometimes, and then he got all butthurt so I figured I could just lay it on thicker but I forgot! I _forgot_ I’m not supposed to say this shit, Kyle!”

Kyle pouts. “It’s important! _Vital!”_

Stan waves his hands in the air, trying desperately to find some excuses. “I mean, he already _knew before I even said a word,_ so I figured it was fine! Because I’m _pretty sure everyone_ ** _already knows?_** Like the bet thing Craig has going on–”

“Don’t remind me!” Kyle snaps, crossing his arms. “That’s _fucked_ up, betting on people’s personal relationships. Fuck him.”

“U-uh, I mean, sure, yeah, totally! But uh. It’s a thing that happened, in the past, and I think everyone already suspected it anyway, so–”

“Are you siding with _him,_ Stan? _The enemy?”_

Stan makes the mistake of slipping a laugh, clearing his throat. “I don't think there have to be _sides,_ Kyle! I'm just saying, you know, Cartman, Bebe, Nicole, Clyde, Token, Craig, Tweek, Butters, Kenny, they all know–”

**“Kenny?!”**

Oh _shit._

“Kenny told you?! Oh, I’m gonna _fucking_ kill him–”

_“No! Kyle, wait, I just– it’s just an educated guess more like but–_ **Wait,”** he frowns hard, tilting his head as he stops his hand mid-reach. **_“What do you mean he told me?_** Told me **_what?_** He just wanted me to go to Hanukkah with you, so I figured he must suspect something's up or… something.”

Kyle’s eyes go wide. He shakes his head.

It’s all crashing down around him. His life, his love, his hopes and dreams.

In a fiery fucking blaze.

He sighs. Craig's monotone voice echoes in his head.

_Just be yourself, man._

So he just has to tell the truth.

And if this all blows up in his face, at least he can murder Kenny and Craig at the end of it.

“I, we, he– Kenny’s known I've had a crush on you since high school, Stan. Before _I_ even knew, really.”

For some reason, this is a startling revelation to the other man.

_“You’re serious?”_

Kyle nods, biting his lip. He can’t tell Stan’s expression, too overcast with confusion, not giving the potential sadness or anger beneath, but all he knows is one thing.

_This isn’t going well._

“Y-yeah. Said it was the way that I looked at you or something. The dreamy thing in my eyes that started maybe freshman year? That’s what he says but I don’t even know–”

“And you’ve been talking about me with him behind my back for years.”

Kyle frowns, feeling tears prick his eyes. “Yes. W-we tried coming up with… plans for _months._ But you loved Wendy, Stan.” He breathes deep. _“You wouldn’t_ **_even_ ** **look** **_at me,”_ **Kyle says, voice barely a whisper on the last few words.

“Oh.”

That’s all Stan can manage before there’s a loud boom, one that shakes the entire Earth, covering it in a wash of violet.

_“The fireworks are starting!”_ Someone screams, pure excitement.

The stranded couple look over from the parking lot, seeing everyone in the field scrambling atop their cars, trying to get the best view of the pretty explosions that are just beginning to start up from half a mile away, in the bigger city from some party at a complex.

Perfect view right up here, free and everything.

Kyle and Stan stare up at the pretty lights and explosions for a moment, surprised by sensory overload before they remember themselves, their current situation.

They glance at each other, unsure quite what to do now.

_But he knows it's lost._

Kyle shakes his curls, turning away on his heel to go join the crowd.

**_Oh wait, no he doesn’t,_ ** because there’s suddenly a desperate hand tangling up in his own.

**_“I can’t_** **believe** **you,”** Stan says just loud enough over the sounds of explosions.

Kyle’s gaze falls to the grass, heart dropping right with it.

_“I can’t_ **_believe_ ** _you two are such_ **_idiots.”_ **

Green eyes look up in disbelief, spying the slightest hint of a grin.

Stan starts laughing, squeezing Kyle’s fingers. “And I can’t believe _I_ was such an idiot, either.”

He leans forward, pressing his jacket flush with Kyle’s who still can barely even react.

“You really do have a horrible crush on me, don’t you?”

Kyle just nods, at first hesitantly, but quickly becoming fervent, frantic.

_“Yes, yes, yes yes, of_ course I do!” he sputters, collapsing on Stan with tears in his eyes. _“Stan! You fucking dick!”_

He chuckles, patting his friend's back. “You really think I’d be mad at you for conspiring with Kenny or some shit? That doesn’t even make sense, ‘cause that’s exactly what I’ve been doing the past couple weeks. Inadvertently, but whatever.”

Kyle’s grin falls for a second before it twitches back up, spurred on by Stan’s hand rubbing circles into his back.

_Just like a stupid cat._

**“Yes.”**

**_“Huh?”_ ** Kyle and Stan both gasp, because neither of them said **that,** certainly.

Craig smiles at them. “Good job, Kyle. Just let me yell everyone’s attention right over and you won't owe me anything anymore.” He points to Stan, “You still do, though. Your fault.”

They both glare at Craig, although for different reasons.

_“No,”_ Kyle spits, shoving Stan right off of him as he cleans himself of fluff. “Call me forever indebted, Craig, because that’s _not_ gonna fucking happen.”

Craig shrugs, sighing as he turns around. “Alright. Your funeral.”

Stan squints, turning to Kyle. “Wha–”

“You don’t even _wanna_ know.”

Stan _hmphs,_ content to hop up on the car alongside his friend.

They sit close, just enough space between them to not look suspicious to any onlookers over at the main camp.

The angle does let them slide their fingers together, though.

Lets them giggle, blush.

Under the lurid colours of the fireworks, one can scarcely even tell.

Watching the booms with aws and ohs—that’s the other way around but whatever, they’re too wrapped up in each other to care for proper word order.

Pretty colours, vivid in the black sky. They grow in frequency over the minutes, normal pops of hue joined by speciality pyrotechnics in the forms of sparklers, shifting colours, those really fucking loud ones that just whizz deceptively into the sky before blowing out your fucking ear drums, God dammit.

With zealous laughter begin shouts, starting at sixty but that’s _way_ too fucking early, Bebe! This isn’t New York!

So most of them wait till thirty. More yet at twenty.

All join in the chant at ten, excitement palpable in the frigid air warmed by a tight-knit pack of childhood friends turned adults.

**“Nine! Eight! Seven!”**

Stan and Kyle find themselves able to lean into each other, everyone too fascinated with the growing climax of fireworks to peek over.

**“Six! Five! Four!”**

They press their faces barely murmuring the count together, grinning almost drunk with pleasure into each other.

**“Three! Two!”**

Not even saying the numbers anymore, too busy pushing their mouths together atop the car.

**“One!”**

Their eyes close and miss the big climax.

But that’s okay, as they’re drowned out in cheers and push their tongues together, both thinking the same thing:.

_They can make a_ **_climax_ ** _of their own, later._

_That’s a really bad pun but whatever–_

**“Happy new year!”**

Everyone shouts in cries of elation, too wrapped up in their own joy to notice the two stragglers too busy choking on each other’s tongues to join in on the fun.

Meh, kissing was _much_ more fun, anyway.

The fireworks keep going and at some point the two stop, breaking away for breath and content to just keep their hands held, bodies pressed too close for comfort. But no one looked, or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

_Probably cause they already knew, but whatever,_ Stan thinks, a stupid dick from the high of kissing Kyle, who also grins just as dumb up into the blur of colours.

After a few minutes full of screaming and laughter and other contagious sounds of happiness, the fireworks finally end hesitantly with a succession of giant explosions, each stubbornly bigger than the last.

They watch as one lights up the entire sky, the size of a building as it strikes almost like lightning until it fades away, dying into the sky that returns to its black.

And then the whizzing of many rockets sent into the air, some going off early before finally, finally, there’s the one last great big bang.

Red, white, and blue. Pure America fizzling in the sky, covering the entire city in its vibrant hues and sounds, reflecting off of windows and probably scaring the shit out of all the dogs.

_Brings a tear to Cartman’s eye._

But as all things must, the fireworks die quick after their gaudy display, with a few pops and crackles dispersing into the smoky air.

Everyone claps, chattering about for a few more minutes. Stan and Kyle just watch from a distance, feeling oddly fine with sitting in silence.

And then a strong gust of bitter cold blows over the cliff, and immediately, people wave themselves goodbye, running straight to their cars.

_Ah, and with the fireworks show over, no one wants to hang out on a hill at twelve in the fucking morning in zero degree weather, it seems._

So everyone leaves in their vehicles, separate or together, speeding away right off back to South Park. Clyde with Bebe, Token with Nicole, Craig with Tweek. Cartman with his mom who he cusses out for being late.

Leaving just Butters and Kenny to saunter away from the cliff side, gathering up their bags and camera. What can Kenny say? Butters likes taking pretty pictures.

They banter amongst themselves busily enough, letting Kyle recline back onto Stan’s car. Oh thank God, he wouldn’t have to talk to hi–

“Hey, guys!”

_Fuck._

“Hi, Kenny!” Stan chippers, waving.

“H-hi, you t-two!” _Or was it “too”?_

They all stare at Kyle.

He rumbles, throwing a hand in the air as he blurts out, “Yes, hello! Now goodbye! See you tomorrow, my _wonderful_ pals!”

Kenny chuckles into his glove. “Aw, nah, we’re not leaving right away, Kyle! I mean, we probably should, Butters gets colds something horrible, but we can chance a few minutes.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Then spit it out, Kenny. I got shit to do.”

Kenny grins wickedly. “I am _sure_ you do! So,” he claps his hands together, “you guys are dating now, right?!”

_“Uhhhh,”_ they both say in unison, awkwardly adjusting their shirt collars.

“Oh,” Kenny frowns. “Haven’t concluded that yet? Well, that’s alright, you still got two more weeks!”

“A-and then, I’ll be a-a-a–”

_“A genius!”_ Kenny smiles as Stan and Kyle look absolutely confused.

“Y-yeah!”

“Oh, _Butters,”_ Kenny laughs, pulling him into a sideways hug so he can ruffle his short hair. “You already are! Buuut,” he glances over to Stan and Kyle with a glare, “if having these two become a couple would make you sure of it, then that’s what’s gotta happen! **_Right?”_ **

The two totally-not-boyfriends sit awkwardly in the second of silence that follows.

Was Kenny talking to them? Because there was no fucking way they were answering tha–

“Yes!” Butters gasps against Kenny’s large arm, giggling with cheeks red and hot from the cold.

“Wow,” Kenny says, finally turning on his heel to escort the guy home in his truck, “you didn’t even stutter there, one whole word! I think you’re getting better, Buttercup!”

They’re about to stop watching when Kenny suddenly moves vigorously, arm not slung around Butters’ waist snapping back to toss a duffel bag behind him, landing right on the grass before Kyle.

**“What–”**

Kenny grins over his shoulder, but it’s Butters who answers.

“Ice skating!” he smiles before slapping a mitten over his mouth, not wanting to dare taint his clear words.

The two blondes giggle into each other on their walk to the parking lot, Kenny’s voice barely audible now as he says, _“See?_ You are getting better, just like I said, _all it takes is a little bit of…”_

Out of earshot and soon out of mind as he turns the engine on, pulling straight off the lot and back home.

Leaving Stan and Kyle alone on the cliff, forced to return to their immediate surroundings as the truck disappears behind the trees.

_“Ice skating?”_ they both ask incredulously at once, turning to stare at each other before breaking into fits of chuckles, memories of the last few days coming into recall, contrasting so starkly with the present.

“God!” Stan laughs, “We’re so fucking stupid, aren’t we?”

“We are!” Kyle simpers, sliding his ass down the bonnet so he can inspect the bag. “Why the _fuck_ couldn’t I just _communicate_ with you? Not like I’ve known you for, _oh, I don’t know,_ **fifteen fucking years!”**

“I know!” Stan yells as he falls onto the ground, turning his phone on to help Kyle in his attempts to inspect the contents.

Kyle grunts, “Well, we might be idiots, but they’re even bigger ones.”

He scoffs as he pulls out a white short boot, the metal blade of its skate beneath it gleaming like a weapon in the light of the phone.

“As _if_ we’d fucking go ice skating!” Kyle laughs. “That is _so fucking gay–”_

“I wanna do it!” Stan sputters, snapping up the boot and holding it in his hand like a precious gemstone.

Kyle furrows his brow. _“Seriously, man?”_

“Yeah! I’ve never done it before, so I wanna see what it’s like!”

Kyle frowns. “There’s nothing to even skate on, though.”

Stan points to the bottom of the cliff side, of a little to the right within the forest.

Shining in the light of the crescent moon, is a large lake. Still covered in snow, almost a pure white with just the slightest hint of blue.

Probably frozen solid for a good few inches, at least.

_Perfect._

Kyle fucking sighs and Stan claps his phone against the boot in joy.

*****

“How do I do this?”

_“I don’t know, man, it’s been years.”_

“How do I do it, though?”

_“I don’t know. Just put your fucking foot on the ground after you get the boot laced up. It’s not that hard.”_

“What if I fall on my ass.”

_“I can only dream,”_ Kyle seethes, the second he has his laces ripped up sliding his heel to the ice, letting gravity compel him forward until he’s entirely on it.

“Wow!” Stan breathes behind him.

Kyle looks over his shoulder with his glare melting away as he sees Stan’s total _awe._ Like Kyle wasn’t just keeping his body upright as the skates propel him forward, but instead was doing something _fucking amazing._

**_But wasn’t he, though?!_ **

Literally just staring right into Stan’s eyes, effortlessly moving across the ice at a slow but steady pace, moon behind him casting light over his red curls, a dark shadow over the rest of his thin body.

_“You gonna just sit there, or…”_

**“Oh!”** Stan snaps, instantly standing before he remembers he’s wearing skates and nearly breaking his fucking ankle.

“Careful, man!” Kyle says, his face of concern making Stan’s burn in embarrassment.

“I’m fine! Just, _gotta–”_ Stan tries to move the heavy boot onto the ice, huffing with the effort, the unusual weight tying his foot down like a ball and chain.

“Just put it on the ice, Stan. Not that hard.”

“You can say that!” Stan puffs, finally getting the skate onto the ice but instantly losing his balance, saving himself only by thrusting his other foot upon the glass.

“Shit!” he yells, flailing his arms as he writhes on the ice like a freshly born deer, left, right, up, down, ankle slipping, calf giving, **fuck he’s gonna** **_fall on his a–_ **

And then an arm is lifting him up, supporting him about the waist so he can collect his bearings. A hand wraps around his leg, pulling it outward so he can better distribute his weight, the skate finally digging into the ice like it’s meant to.

Kyle’s panting into his ear, having just skated half the lake in a single second.

_“Retard,”_ Kyle huffs, finally letting go. He would cross his arms, but his mother painstakingly told him never to do that while moving, let alone on fucking ice skates.

_“Th-thanks!”_ Stan chuckles nervously, extending his hands to the side to not fall over like his body desperately wants to.

Kyle squints as he looks him over. Low to the ground with his knees buckled, hips pushed back so he’s practically squatting on the ice.

Face contorted into a tense horror like he’s just seen Cartman naked.

He looks like a **fucking idiot.**

And he might be his own idiot, but he was slowly becoming Kyle’s idiot. And Kyle can’t look like he’s fucking an idiot, so he decides with a languid sigh to come help the poor man.

Kyle skates over to him easily, presenting his body backlit by the moonlight to Stan who happily gawks. He waves his hands to the sides, angling his right skate to skid to a stop before his friend.

“You need to fix your posture, Stan. Badly.”

“Oh,” Stan laughs, “you sound like my mom!”

“Yeah, I do. But they’re right, you know. _Moms._ So,” he skates to Stan’s side, coming to an easy stop again as he lays his hands on Stan’s body.

“Straighten your back.”

Stan does his best to do so, going stiff as a board so Kyle chuckles.

“Relax. You shouldn’t be tense when you’re skating, or ever, really. Just relax, Stan.”

Stan breathes out deep, letting his muscles lax but inevitably jolting back to life to save himself from falling as his skate slips beneath him.

“Not that lax. You still have to use your legs, dude,” Kyle giggles, tying a blade behind Stan’s to fix his footing.

“Shoulders back, hips forward, legs out beneath you. Good,” Kyle practically purrs, watching Stan do well enough at following instructions.

Huh, and Kyle thought he was the one who liked following orders…

“The most important thing is to keep your feet firmly on the ice. Don’t let them slip or angle off. Shouldn’t be too hard but it seems you have… _problems.”_

“Hey!”

Kyle laughs with his head back, his green eyes twinkling in the moonlight as Stan looks over to him. Just an inch away, hands still over his body. _So close._

“And if they do start to move on you, just calmly correct it. Don’t over-correct, either.”

“Over… correct..?”

“God, Stan, _do,_ do you know when you drive? If you react too much you can over-correct. Like into a turn or something, just as bad, if not worse, than under-correcting. Same,” he moves behind Stan, “as **_skating!”_ **

He slides his hands up Stan’s torso to his chest, letting them wrap around his neck as he leans forward, curls of hair tickling Stan’s cheek as he whispers into his ear, _“It’s also known as…”_ the click of Kyle’s grin is audible as he finishes, **_“panicking.”_**

“So **don’t** do that!” he shouts, bringing his hands back to snap them onto Stan’s shoulder blades, shoving him onto the ice with a cackle.

Stan beings to instinctively panic before he remembers Kyle’s advice, and so despite the intense speed he’s suddenly given, the terrifying helplessness of sliding forward without his feet even moving, he manages to make himself _focus._

He digs his heels into the ground, feeling the ice give beneath the knives of his skates in an oddly satisfactory way, and _doesn’t_ topple over.

There is still one problem, though.

**_“How do I stop?!”_ **

Kyle blurts through obvious giggles, “Just angle your feet horizontally and brake!”

Stan is absolutely terrified, but as he nears the snow bank at a rapid speed, decides to just say fuck it.

He shifts both ankles, sliding the skates from toe to heel to his right side, bracing himself for inevitable impact as he crashes down.

_Except… he doesn’t._

He stands there in awe, motionless on the ice, looking to his feet and the trail of slurry behind them in utter disbelief.

_Wow,_ Kyle thinks as he skates over to him. He’s almost proud.

And then Stan pumps his arms into the air, shouting loud enough to startle the poor sleeping birds nesting in the firs.

Well, it was fun while it lasted…

*****

“Wow, this _is_ fun!” Stan laughs with pure giddy, rushing past Kyle so fast he can feel the crosswinds through his heavy coat.

“You can say that!” Kyle giggles, turning on the curve of the lake to just barely not crash into Stan for the thousandth time.

Despite the rocky start, Stan proves to be a swift learner. Picks up the more advanced techniques to manage his speed, slow and stop on a dime, turn just sharp enough he didn’t trip, even jump a little. Although not more than an inch, but hey, neither can Kyle, really!

They skate around each other, whizzing past each other on the glass of the ice, caught up in the wind, changing their courses on a dime. At some point they come close enough to reach out, finding their hands interlaced so they can spin around each other in a blissful sort of glee, washed out under the moonlight.

The spin grows tighter and tighter, faster before it slows, momentum lost.

“Yeah,” Stan breathes, a little heavy from the exercise, “that was _really_ fun, Kyle.”

Kyle shrugs slightly, moving his locks into his face where they stick against his burning cheeks. “I’m glad you think so, dude… I thought you’d think it was just–”

“Gay?”

“Y-yeah…” Kyle mutters, glancing off to the side.

Hm…

Stan slides his skate forward so his body is flush with Kyle’s, taking a hand up and to his face, bringing him level so he can say right into his eyes, “Well, Kyle, we are gay, aren’t we?”

_“Ah–”_

“At least a little bit.” He grins, stroking his thumb along Kyle’s jaw dappled with freckles, smooth and butter soft.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” he practically purrs, leaning in to rest his forehead on Kyle’s as he closes his eyes in peace.

Kyle just breathes for a second, taking everything in before he can’t help himself.

“N-no, Stan,” he says, tone worrying enough that Stan opens his eyes to look down into him.

“There is,” Kyle frowns, “something wrong with it.”

“Oh, what? You’re gonna talk about piety when you’ve been lusting after me for years? You’re hardly even a jew, Kyle, anymore than I’m catholi–”

Kyle glares up at Stan hard enough to make him shut up.

“That’s not the problem. I mean, it is, kinda. Makes me feel bad at night. But, the main problem, is my mom.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, looking down to the flash of their skates. “I might not care about _sinning,_ but **_she_ ** certainly **will.** A-and, I, I really love her… so…” his face falls down, barely sputtering out, “if she found out, and… s-something **_happened,_ ** _I don’t know_ **_what_ ** _I would do…”_

Stan pulls Kyle into a tight embrace, feeling Kyle’s head immediately come naturally into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m sure nothing would happen, but just in case, I can keep a secret.”

“Y-yeah?” Kyle whispers into his shoulder.

“Yeah. In fact, I’m so good at it, I can fool even myself, y’know.”

Kyle pulls back, frowning. “What does that mean?”

Stan just smiles, toothy white grin almost blinding in the light. “I mean I was never in love with Wendy. And I kept that secret so damn well I didn’t fucking know until you kissed me, Kyle.”

And Kyle would say something witty back, but he’s too busy being pulled into another warm hug, lips pressed against his just to ensure he won’t talk.

Stan grins into Kyle’s mouth as the other gasps, just pushing harder. He feels Kyle begin to reciprocate, thank God, because otherwise this was gonna be really awkward–

_“Fuck,”_ Kyle breathes, speaking directly against Stan’s as he flutters his long lashes, a heavy look in his eyes. “I love you.”

Stan goes shock still, Kyle still in a lovely daze for a second before he blinks and his eyes go full wide.

_What the fuck did he just say?_ They **both** think.

“U-uh,” Kyle says, pulling back just a bit from Stan’s mouth, “I-I mean–”

“No!” Stan practically shouts, making them both flinch. “Er, sorry, just, no, Kyle.”

Kyle tilts his head, plump lips sliding against Stan’s lesser ones as he does so. _“You don’t want me to love you?”_

“Of course I do!” Stan shouts, panicking.

Kyle breaks off into a fit of giggles. “I’m just kidding, dude! _God, you are so d–”_

**“Dumb,** yeah yeah, heard it a thousand times already,” Stan huffs before wrapping his arms around Kyle’s back, pressing him flush at their scarved chests.

“What I meant is no, Kyle,” he smiles, feeling as well as seeing Kyle do the same right against him, faces an inch apart, lips speaking into his.

“Because I love you too.”

It’s just three words. Three silly, stupid words. Most of the work came from the verb, and even then it shouldn’t mean much.

And yet, it did.

It fills Kyle with an all-consuming sense of utter joy, euphoria, squeezing his arms around Stan as their lips crash together.

Fuck’s sake, he even lifts a leg into the air, skate weighing it down so it quickly bounces its bladed tip onto the ice. But the damage is done, Kyle giggling into the kiss.

In that moment, he feels _just like a girl._

_Stan’s girl._

_It’s so stupid._

_But, for some stupid reason, that’s like the best fucking feeling in the entire_ **_God forsaken world._ **

The kiss quickly descends from giddy excitement to something more intense, more passionate.

No longer new, not just cute or fun.

More than that, adding up just as the seconds do.

They hug tighter, squeezing their lungs despite their mouths already being busy from shoving them together, quickly becoming desperate for air, breathless, and high from it.

Their hands wander, going higher, lower, tucking into waistbands, sliding up shirts and rucking them up to reveal bare flesh, hot and beginning to dew with sweat from the insulation of their heavy coats.

Their mouths grow desperate, tongues wrapping around the other’s to try to get some sort of relief, but it only makes them even hungrier.

And they both know for exactly what, as one of them makes the mistake of adjusting his legs, skates sliding on the ice so their crotches smash together.

**_“Ah!”_ ** Kyle outright _moans,_ head flinging back and breaking the kiss.

“Fuck!” he pants, pressing his red curls into Stan’s chest to hide his burning face. “I, oh, I–”

“What?” Stan asks, intending to be genuinely worried.

But as Stan continues, his tone becomes tainted, lower and darker.

_“Did you almost just_ **_cum_ ** _from that?”_

Kyle whines like a wounded animal against his chest, thigh sliding up to press against his muscled one as he can only nod, focusing his mind on willing himself not to cum right then in there in his boxers, his jeans, the pathetic friction of just his clothing on his leaking cock almost enough to get him off.

Because **fuck,** Stan was just so _hot._

And it’s Stan who instantly knows what to do, now the adult in the relationship as he pulls his friend forward and off the ice, skates gliding easily so he doesn’t even have to walk on his legs which still twitch, almost as though with the aftershocks of orgasm. Pretty much was one, honestly.

And as they rip their laces off, throwing their boots into the bag and shoes back on their feet in Olympic record time, Kyle feels the tensing of his abdominal muscles, his legs, his ass, all run over him as he continues to barely deny himself the ecstasy of orgasm.

Wow, and every time he’s tried edging himself before _this,_ it fucking _sucked._

He looks over with a pained smile to the reason why, watching him grin back innocently enough.

But there’s still a quality to Stan’s deep blue eyes, something deep, carnal, unknowable.

_And, God, Kyle wants to fucking_ **_know it._ **

So they run back up the cliff almost as fast as they’d fallen down it, sprinting across the open field to the parking lot where they catch their breaths only as Stan struggles to fish his keys out of his pocket, click the button twice to unlock the car.

Kyle throws himself inside the second he can.

And only once he’s inside of the cold metal of the death machine does Kyle realize just how fucking _freezing_ it is, chattering his teeth _immediately._

The moment Stan’s inside, Kyle’s shaking fingers claw on his hand which turns the ignition, stuttering something about the heat.

Stan feels the frost too, shaking in his clothing coated in a sweat that now cools to his skin awfully. So the second the car starts, he puts the heat full blast.

But the car’s pretty shit, old and forgotten, so it always takes a couple minutes to warm up.

And, as they look at each other with passion still remaining despite the bitter cold, they know exactly the solution.

_Just like penguins._

“Back seat?” Stan asks.

Kyle rolls his eyes before climbing right on back there, Stan unable to resist squeezing his ass as he struggles to manoeuvre himself in the cramped little car.

Stan laughs at the snarl he gets.

The second Stan’s sat on the plush leather seat, Kyle’s climbing over him, shifting their bodies so Stan lays across all the seats, Kyle coming to straddle him with one leg, the other spilling onto the floor.

_God damned motherfucking seat, he thinks as he digs an elbow into it._

Why couldn’t car manufacturers make these things as people so obviously needed?

_To_ **_fuck_ ** _in?_

Their erections are obvious as they look between their bodies, _so close but so far from just touching, just_ **_cumming, holy fuck–_ **

**_“And that was Wonderwall, by Oasis!”_ **

**“No!”** Kyle growls, snapping his gaze right over to the fucking radio he hadn’t realized was on until the shitty host started yapping his fucking mouth.

**_“Wonderwall was released on October 30th, 1995, the fourth single on their album–”_ **

What a fucking boner killer, this guy just prattling on loudly as Stan chuckles nervously at his boy–boyfriend? Were they _boyfriends_ now?

_Well, shit, he better not slip up like that aloud! Because that would be_ **_awful!_ **

And he can have a mental breakdown about that later, right now he just has to get up and go change the radio.

But he finds he can’t, Kyle firmly planted on Stan’s thighs by his ass, just glaring down at him when he tries to slide out from under him.

**_“– and so some people even go so far as to theorize it was about Paul McCartney! What a crazy story, haha! Anyway, because there are_ ** **absolutely no** **_good New Year’s songs, here’s Gary Allan, I guess!”_ **

_“Oh no!”_ Kyle cries, “Not _Gary Allan! Anything_ but country, bring the fucker bac–”

The twinkly intro gives way, and, **_“They say he knows who’s been naughty or nice,”_ **Allan’s slow voice continues anyway.

**_“And if I have my way, baby, after tonight~ We’ll be one couple he can scratch off his list!”_ **

Hm. Surprisingly smooth, _almost pleasant–_

**_“Let’s be naughty, and save Santa the trip!”_ **

_Ohhh._

Yeah, Kyle guesses as he looks back down at Stan with a lazy grin, grinding his ass on his erection.

He could like this song.

Gary keeps singing while Kyle quickly works up a rhythm, teasing Stan who groans so wonderfully beneath him with cants of his hips, working heat right into the spot he probably needs it the least, but whatever.

The song shifts more upbeat, sparking a fire in Kyle’s spine that lets him splay a hand on Stan’s heaving chest.

**_“Well, Santa’s face would turn red, if he could only see~”_ **

He runs it down his chest–

**_“What we’ll be unwrapping, underneath our Christmas tree…”_ **

Ends right at his crotch, tracing the outline of Stan’s throbbing cock beneath his ass.

He leans forward, all the way down until his chest is flush with Stan’s, jacket belying the hardness of his nipples beneath all the layers.

Puts his mouth to Stan’s ear, whispering loudly within the shell of it to beat out the singing reverberating in the quickly warming car.

_“Don’t you wanna fuck me?”_

Stan groans raggedly, tossing his head back as his cock _jumps_ in his pants.

“Oh, God!” he moans, beating a fist against the seat to keep from fucking killing Kyle who grins like the cat who’d got the cream right over him. Fuck him for looking so fucking beautiful in the moonlight. “You mean like, penetration?!”

“Oh, yes! Don’t _you_ wanna? Huh, _Stan?”_

“Don’t use that breathy voice on me!” Stan pouts over Kyle’s impish giggling.

“And, yes, of course I wanna… fuck you, Kyle… but, we, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Kyle asks, tilting his head as he leans back up, ass just-so-happenedly slamming down right upon Stan’s crotch once more.

Stan lets out a shaky breath, shaking as he says, “Because! Kyle, we don’t have lube, we don’t have you prepared, we don’t have condoms, we’re in a fucking car!”

Kyle’s mouth literally drops, eyes going ludicrously wide.

“I have lube,” he says first, leaning over— _fuck, that feels so_ **_fucking good_ ** _on Stan's cock_ —and grabbing his bag to retrieve from it almost _suspiciously_ quickly a bottle of jelly lubricant.

Stan’s brow furrows. “You have lube? Why do you have lube?”

Kyle just laughs, shaking the little travel-sized bottle between his fingers. “Because of situations just like this!” He drops the bottle carelessly on the floor, dragging a nail down Stan’s chest to undo his zipper—thank God.

“What,” Stan scoffs, “Just in case your boyfriend wants to fuck you in his mom’s car and oh shit I said boyfriend didn’t I oh my God I said just a few minutes ago not to do this and now–”

Kyle shuts him up with a wet kiss, opening his mouth so some spit remains as he pops off him with an easy grin, wiggling his hips above him.

_“Yeah, when my_ **_secret_ ** _boyfriend wants to fuck me in his mom’s car! Exactly!”_ he snickers, finishing dragging Stan’s zipper down to splay it to either side, letting him run his hands over Stan’s broad chest, his hard muscles damp with sweat.

“Anyway, the other things you said…” Kyle mutters, leaning up so Stan can take his fucking hot jacket off entirely.

“I don’t care about fucking in a car,” he glances to the roof, “I’ve imagined _far worse_ places for _years.”_ He looks back down, smiling. “And we don’t need a condom, so long as Wendy didn’t give you a disease.”

“She did not!”

Kyle tuts, shifting back down. “Still defending her, huh? What a _wonderful_ white knight you are…”

Stan’s too busy undoing Kyle’s coat to be too offended.

“And, what was that last one? Remind me, Stan?”

The other pauses, literally, hands going still and everything until Kyle shakes his chest and forces him onward. Fucking blazing hot in the damned wool.

“Um…” Stan hums dumbly, looking back before he guesses he’s found it. “You aren’t prepped?”

Kyle goes still despite Stan finishing the zipper, just staring into Stan’s very soul with an oddly amused expression on his freckled face.

“What? You gonna tell me you already fucking did that?”

“No…” Kyle mutters, finally reaching back to pull his coat off his thin arms. “It’s something _else_ about that sentiment…”

“You don’t… need to?”

“Oh my God, Stan!” Kyle shouts as he throws his thing to the ground, grabbing Stan’s chubby face between his fingers.

“You automatically assumed that _I_ would be the one bottoming, dumbass!”

“Oh.”

**_“ ‘Oh’?_ ** **‘Oh’** _is all I fucking get?”_

“Um. Am I supposed to say more than that? ‘Oh God’?”

Kyle tilts his head, exasperated and body filled with a heat now not just from the fully warmed, cosy car.

“Wh-what?” he stutters, staring into Stan’s eyes only to see _them_ begin to fill with humour at his despair. “You-you _really_ think _I’m_ gonna be the one on bottom?”

“I mean,” Stan huffs, “yeah, Kyle!”

“Why?!”

“How is this even a question?!” Stan waves frantically up and down Kyle’s body pressed over his, making them both look back to his slight waist, his wondrously thick thighs leading to a similarly plump, round ass skirted into the air.

Kyle looks back up to his face. “That proves nothing.”

“What?! Aren’t _you_ the one who wears the girl’s clothes in this relationship, _Mr Broflovski?!”_

“I-I mean, _yes,_ ** _but_** that doesn’t automatically mean I’m always gonna be the one getting fucked!”

Stan shrugs under him, letting his hands slide down to either side of Kyle’s hips. “I dunno, it seems like a pretty safe assumption to make to me…”

Kyle gasps when Stan squeezes his ass with both hands, digging mounds of flesh into them and grinning all the while.

“And _how_ could I _not_ want to fuck **_this?”_ ** Stan bites into Kyle’s ear, and fuck, Kyle might be feeling just a little dehumanized right now but that damned voice did things to his body he _just can’t help._

_“Mmm,”_ Kyle moans against him, feeling his dick twitch with life once more in his pants. Not that it had ever truly died, just, got a little shy during the whole position thing.

But, man, Kyle thinks he doesn’t even really _care_ all that much now, as Stan kneads his ass, sliding a hand round to his fly.

He almost kinda likes it, the idea of just getting **_fucked_ ** _all the time_ by his best friend, _used like a toy,_ **_bred like a whore until he was dripping with his cum._ **

**_“Oh!”_ **Kyle shouts right when Stan pulls his jeans down, leaving him only in his boxers after he kicks them off easily.

_“I wanna fuck you so bad, Kyle,”_ Stan growls into his ear, sounding wet and close, filled with intense desire, fucking **_need._ **

_“Ah! Oh, then do it! Do it, Stan!”_ Kyle whines as he rips his friend’s jeans off, the second he has them on the floor then pressing his hips down so their pelvises become flush, boners grinding against each other and making them groan.

“Ah, yeah, you want it? You want it that _fucking bad, Kyle?”_

Kyle nods, hums loudly in agreement, running both their shirts up so he can press his abdomen against Stan’s, feel the stick of sweat upon it, the sheer heat emanating from his body.

Stan reaches down to Kyle’s boxers, pulling them until the band snaps down over his dripping cock, something he can only feel rather than see for Kyle now grinding his tits down on his chest, panting into his cheek.

He drags it down Kyle’s pale skin, over the massive swell of his ass and down his taint, thumbs running against his tight balls as he purrs into his ear.

_“Want me to_ **_fuck your pussy with my cock_ ** _already?”_

The literal _second_ it leaves Stan’s mouth, he realizes the _fucking horrible mistake_ he’s made.

But his depression is interrupted immediately by a chest bare but for the slightest loop of a shirt around it pressing down into his, Kyle nipples hard against his skin now just as naked, desperate hands clawing up and down his sides just as Kyle’s exposed ass grinds down on his cock.

_“Yesssssss,”_ Kyle moans, out of his fucking mind with pure _lust._

Stan can only watch as Kyle’s hand reaches back, ghosting over Stan’s hand to dig into his own skin, edging closer and closer with every flex to his hole.

He grabs Stan’s fingers just so he can feel it, when Kyle forces their combined hands to spread, index and middle coming apart a hair from the sensitive skin of his twitching, pink hole.

_“Aw, Stan,”_ he whimpers with eyes closed, only able to wiggle their fingers, but not into it, not without the _fucking lube, “fuck my_ **_pussy, please!_ ** _Fill me with your cum until it_ **_hurts! Stan!”_ **

Stan scrambles instantly to the floor, digging through jeans and coats until he finally finds the needle in the haystack, the fabled bottle of jelly lube.

He kneels back up, panting as he stares at Kyle who’s now sitting up on the leather seat, ass raised on his haunches, huffing similarly.

“S-so, how do you wanna do this?” Stan voice cracks, finding himself suddenly oddly intimidated by Kyle’s waiting posture, his bedroom eyes.

Kyle rolls those exact green eyes back into his skull, reaching forward to snap up the bottle.

“However. I don’t care.”

“Well, I’m not so sur–”

Stan’s caught off as his wrist is grabbed, pulling him forward across the camped quarters of the car to his amused friend.

_“Just go with it, dude. Just like we always have,”_ Kyle breaths, straight against Stan’s lips with a grin.

“O-okay– **_ah!”_ **

Stan is pulled even further by his hand to be strewn across the black leather seat, lain over top of Kyle’s mostly-nude body just like before.

Kyle’s boxers are still around his thighs, stuck mid-way so they rub against his smooth skin, restricting his movements and keeping him from running his legs over Stan’s back like he wants to.

“Just fuck me, Stan,” Kyle purrs, moving his hand not holding the lube to ghost it between their chests, all the way down to where he can just barely reach Stan’s crotch.

He runs his fingers over the outline of Stan’s cock, fresh and familiar after having given him that handy just a few days ago. Exactly the same.

But, simultaneously, it felt _so different._

Mostly because, now, it was soon going to go inside of Kyle, fuck him full of cock, make him unable to want anything else, _ever again._

_“God, Stan,”_ Kyle says, shifting their legs so he can slide his boxers fully off, let Stan do the same. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long…”

“I know.”

Kyle huffs as he lays back down on the seats, completely naked after he rips his shirt up over his head.

“Y-you don’t, though. That’s the thing, Stan.”

Stan looks down to Kyle after he rids himself of his last piece of attire as well, staring into his eyes with confusion.

“It’s just that you could… could never know, unless you’d been pining, thinking, _hoping_ for years, too.”

Kyle takes the bottle in both hands, warming it between his palms but suddenly feeling just as nervous as Stan had been before, biting his lip.

“G-God, I just, I’ve been, thinking for so, so long… So many fucking nights all alone in my room, in my bed, just _wishing_ that something like this could ever even slightly happen…”

Kyle’s voice breaks as he continues, “A-and so, I can’t even really **_believe_ ** _this r-right now!”_

Stan looks down to see his friend hiding his face, shielding it against the seat beside him, but it’s unavoidable.

The expression on his face, so utterly broken all the sudden, beet red, the gloss of tears beginning to well up in his eyes darting sideways.

“Oh, Kyle…” Stan can barely breathe, instantly leaning forward over him to press his face closer, his bare chest flush against a smaller one.

His fingers come down upon Kyle’s slight chin, running up his sharp jawline as he pouts.

_“I’m so fucking sorry.”_

Kyle manages a glance up toward Stan, looking through eyes embarrassingly blurry to see that usual smile curled downward instead, blue made dark with regret.

His lips part, and he finds the words tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them:

_“A-am I better than her?”_

Stan instantly tilts his head, leaning back just the slightest millimetre but it makes Kyle wince anyway.

“Wendy?” He already knows.

Kyle just nods miserably above him. _“Y-yeah…”_

Stan leans back further, expression unchanging for a moment before it returns to its default state, an unreadable poker face that fills Kyle with a fear almost greater than if it had been filled with fury.

Stan blinks over the sound of some random pop song dull in the background, brow furrowing as he looks Kyle’s naked body over.

From his bright red face, so open, so vulnerable, tears filling his waterline, curls plastered around his cheeks; down to his neck, his bony collar, over his arms raised almost in defence over his chest, shielding himself from the inevitable blow.

All the way down to his rosy nipples, hard despite the immense warmth beginning to fill his car, from a mixture of both arousal _and_ fear, surely.

Over the smooth, mostly featureless expanse of his stomach to his groin, his smaller cock twitching even under Stan’s voyeuristic gaze, flush at the tip and shining wet with cum.

Kyle makes a desperate sound in his throat, bringing Stan’s attention finally back to his face.

And then Stan just smiles.

_Stupidly._

_Really,_ **_really_ ** _stupidly._

“Of course you are, Kyle.”

**Oh God.**

Stan just smiles even harder, running a finger over Kyle’s collar bone, feeling the heat of his skin, the absolute tense stillness of his muscles beneath it.

“You’re a million times better than Wendy ever could have been, dude. You always have been. I was just too blind to see it back then.”

He swirls his finger tip from Kyle’s neck down the swell of his pecs, or tits, hard to call them either with their sheer flatness.

He leans in just as he flicks his fingers around one of Kyle’s nipples, drinking in his moan as he purrs:

**_“Too distracted.”_ **

_“Mmmmh!”_ Kyle whines into an ear as Stan’s face comes to bury itself in his neck, that wonderful mouth that had been all over his but fifteen minutes ago now laving over his throat, down the sensitive juncture of his jugular, feeling his heart pound through the vessel.

_“You make for a thousand times the_ **_girl_ ** _she_ **_ever was,”_ **he says against the salt of Kyle’s skin, swiping his tongue over the open expanse before he takes a chance and sucks down on it. Just the smallest amount, the lightest press, but it makes Kyle keen against him, thighs squeezing around his hips.

_“D-do I really?”_ Kyle can barely strangle out, too busy unconsciously thrusting up into the warmth of Stan’s body, rutting his cock against Stan’s and nearly dying from the pleasure that jolts him as a result.

**“Yes,”** Stan _growls,_ snapping his hands down to pin Kyle’s legs still the same time that he holds him down by his throat, using his mouth alone, sucking down hard between his lips. He’s surely popping veins beneath his skin, colouring his flesh with reds and pinks he can’t yet see, but knows are surely there just within his mouth.

He grazes his teeth against Kyle’s pale skin, wanting so badly to just snap, to sink into his soft flesh and mark him as his forever with the scars that would result.

But he can’t do that.

Not yet, anyway.

So he just pops off Kyle’s neck, breaking the suction at the same time so it snaps his skin painfully, making Kyle whine loudly beneath him. He tries to rut his pelvis up but finds himself unable to, seeing large hands digging into his thighs, nails of his thumbs pressing into his hips almost enough to bleed.

**_“F-fuck me!”_ **Kyle whines, looking up to Stan with pure desperation for some kind of relief from his leaking cock, the unbearable emptiness he feels deep inside his organs.

Stan catches the tiny bottle of lubricant on reflex, looking at it as the primal instincts clouding his mind slowly drag away.

_Fuck._

_How the_ **_fuck_ ** _does he do this?_

He purses his lips, flipping the cap and squirting some lube into his fingers anyway. He’ll figure it out, right?

But as Stan kneels down between Kyle’s thighs, right hand all ready to fuck into the pink of his hole at the centre, he finds himself entirely fucking unable to do literally _anything._

Because how the fuck was he supposed to get in **there?**

It’s just so fucking… tiny. Barely visible, but certainly there. He’s not retarded, just… how the hell was this gonna work? At least he never had to worry about Wendy like this, because, duh, she had a pussy, and that’s _actually made_ to be fucked.

He startles back to reality at hand when fingers twirl around just that, gaze snapping down to see Kyle’s slender fingers stealing some lube off of his. And Kyle might be rolling his eyes at his stupid, stupid boyfriend, but his face was burning pink, so joke’s fucking on him.

Kyle brings his left hand down, spreading his thigh open on the inside with the clean fingers of his outer digits. Usually he uses his right hand to do this, but hey, he’s flexible. And there’s the fucking seat in the way.

“Like this,” he breathes into the air, blindly finding his hole with obviously practised ease.

Stan can hardly stare—wait, no, of course he’s gonna fucking _stare, burn this shit into his memory forever,_ as Kyle circles his slick fingers around the tiny pink muscle of his hole, breaths coming in pants all the while.

Because holy shit, he was actually about to fuck himself right in front of his best friend. Just like his fantasies, what he’d cum to for years finally a reality, before his very eyes as a treat he can’t help but drool over. Seriously, he was actually salivating now.

God, he really wants to suck Stan’s dick. But no, he can do that later. Right now, he gets to fuck him, and in a lot of ways, that was way better.

So he pushes his index into his tight hole, eyes squinting shut with the slight discomfort that follows. But he’s trained himself to not care, to push through it for the pleasure which he knows will ultimately follow.

“Y-you were right, b-by the way,” Kyle stutters as he wiggles his finger further inside him, sliding on his sensitive walls and making him full-body shake just a bit.

“ ‘Bout what?” Stan asks dumbly, seeming almost captivated by the way Kyle’s finger disappears inside his hole, beginning to press around inside it to stretch himself out.

“I-I already did prep… kinda. Just clean and whatever, b-but, _hah,_ it was… _enough.”_

Because for fucking _once,_ Kyle can actually thank Kenny for the guy’s apparent “virginal” pervertedness.

“Oh,” Stan says.

Right, of course.

Guys had to do that… unlike… girls…

It makes sense, but Stan prefers to be ignorant almost instantly after he has this realization, so diverts with:

“Did you think about me?”

Kyle looks up at him, noise between a whine of pleasure and a huff of exasperation.

“What? Think about _you?”_

“Yeah! Like, y’know, in a sexual fantasy kinda way.”

Kyle sighs despite pushing his middle in to join his pointer, after just a bit of prodding being accepted. It had only been a couple hours since he’d done this anyway, of course.

“It was really quick and just to ‘anoint’ myself, Stan. Not much thinking at all, honestly.”

“Oh,” Stan murmurs, looking crestfallen when Kyle glances over.

God… this fucking guy…

“I do… think of you a lot, though.”

Pure excitement. **“Really?”**

“Yeah. Really. A lot. Too much, actually.”

Stan swallows, watching Kyle’s thin fingers thrust inside his hole, making the fat of his ass jiggle when he grinds his hips down on the seat.

“What… what would you think about, exactly?”

Kyle lets his eyes roll back in his head, although now more for carnal pleasure than anything else. “Hah,” he moans, “l-like, just _anything_ about you. Whatever I could get.”

He spreads his fingers, peeking down through dark lashes to see Stan still hovering over him, eyes wide but lidded with equal lust, just watching him fuck himself with his fingers, getting lube all over the seat, his ass, mostly his hole.

“Y-you just standing there, smiling, with those muscles from football practice a-and, fuck, and when you took your clothes off just when you would change in the locker rooms, I would burn that shit into my memory and _just jerk off to it every fucking night–”_

Kyle gasps when he feels something foreign, cold-feeling, dragging on his ass cheek.

He looks down to see Stan’s finger still wet with jelly drawing up his thigh toward his taint, pausing mere inches from his hole his digits are still buried in.

“Well,” Stan says, his voice rendered a deep rumble by something wonderfully _unknowable, “do you want me to make it up to you?”_

Stan glances up to Kyle’s heavy eyes, meeting them with fiery purpose, promise. “All those years of horrible longing, me being a fucking idiot who never even noticed anything.”

**“Uh huh…”**

Stan can’t help but crack the smallest twitch of a grin at Kyle’s sassiness which remains even as he _continues stretching himself right in fucking front of his best friend._

Stan leans down, losing the smile just as Kyle does, his lips stopping over Kyle’s letting loose pants and moans.

**_“Do you want me to make it all worth it?”_ **

Kyle whimpers, spreading his thighs up the seat, down onto the floor, just desperate to be wider, more open, for Stan’s waiting hand splayed on his ass.

_“Yes! God, please, Stan!”_

So Stan lets his body slide his finger closer to Kyle’s puckered hole, just an index which he pushes against Kyle’s two shaking fingers.

**_“Fuck it inside me,”_ ** Kyle whines, canting his hips so Stan’s finger nearly, _nearly,_ falls inside his hole.

_“I want it, I want it, I want it so fucking bad, Stan! Ah, please!”_ Kyle keens, reaching with his other hand to try to push him inside but only receiving a slap to his wrist for trying such a thing.

“I’ll decide that,” Stan _growls._

_“Mmmm,”_ Kyle hums desperately, sitting back and splaying his thighs. Hopefully that would be enough.

Stan starts pushing his finger in, feeling the resistance of Kyle’s hole against yet another finger, of a new sensation of a digit not his own trying to press inside him.

_“Tell me more,”_ Stan orders, bearing his finger down despite Kyle’s clenching muscle.

His finger is thicker than Kyle’s, and three was certainly harder than two, of course… So much _harder…_

“I-I would jack off so many times thinking about you doing it to me–” he gasps as Stan’s finger begins to push inside him, forcing him even wider, filling his head with indescribable emotion as he’s fucked open by a hand not his own.

And what’s more, it wasn’t just any hand.

It was _Stan’s._

_Oh God, it was_ **_Stan’s._ **

And then he cries out when he feels something come down on his thigh, understanding it immediately as a light slap from Stan’s other hand, spurring him on to talk despite his unbearable feelings.

_“And then I started playing with myself, my ass, because I thought it would be awesome if you could fuck me, if you could make me yours, use me, cum inside me, all just for you, you, you,_ **_Stan! Fuck!”_ **

Stan slides his finger in further, up till his last knuckle as he pushes past the hard tension of his rim and finds it much easier inside. Surrounded by a tight, wet heat, it makes his cock throb, his hips seize as he’s filled with the instinctual need to fuck.

He twists his fingers around in Kyle’s insides, brushing against Kyle’s fingers to hook against them, press up until he finds his prostate for the very first time.

Always heard about it, tales of how good it felt. Made him almost curious, but he never indulged in it…

But to see Kyle throw his head back, red curls glued with sweat to his forehead and flying in the breeze he makes, his chest heaving hard as he moans raggedly, _fuck, it must be_ **_good,_ ** _huh?_

Kyle rolls his head on the window, shaking his eyes that have tears in them now as Stan just keeps stroking his prostate gland, pressing up into his internal cock and making him turn to liquid.

Aw, it was _infinitely_ better than doing it himself. **Holy shit.**

**_“Fuck me!”_ ** Kyle cries out, digging his nails into the seat enough to surely scratch it up. “Fuck me, Stan, with your _fucking_ **_cock,_ **just fuck me with it right now, please!”

Stan growls above him, snapping his hips up with both hands as he rips his finger from his hole, lube smearing across his thigh.

“You talk like such a needy whore sometimes, you know that, Kyle?” Stan laughs, snapping up the bottle of lube he’d tossed onto the seat to slick his cock up, both of them shivering at the downright obscene sounds that play out in the enclosed warmth of his car.

“Yes! I-I’m sorry!”

**_“And the way you’ve been teasing me for_ ** **fucking weeks,”** Stan spits, scooting forward on the black leather seat to bring his hips closer to Kyle’s, his cock close, so close, but keeping it far enough so there are inches of stuffy air between them.

**_“It’s just downright_ ** **cruel** **_what you did, isn’t it?”_ **

“I know!” Kyle cries, literally, as he feels tears prick his waterline, blind him even as he tries to look down at Stan’s bobbing cock, wanting it to just thrust right into him already.

“I’m sorry! I-it was Kenny! And Butters! And Craig! And Nicole, Bebe, even my brother wanted me to just ask you out years ago and–”

“God, Kyle,” Stan growls, half-roleplaying— _was that what he was doing?_ —and half-serious. “Don’t bring up your fucking family right now… I’m gonna fuck you in a second.”

“S-sorry, man,” Kyle mutters as he withdraws his fingers from himself, slathering more lube on his cheek to spread his thighs further apart.

Aw, but as Stan makes the mistake of glancing down to see Kyle’s pink little hole, slightly gaping, dripping wet with jelly lube and oh-so-fucking-irresistible, he knows he can’t be mad at him for too long.

_“Well, Kyle,”_ Stan grins, thrusting his hips forward and putting a hand to his twitching cock, angling the head down but still keeping some distance, _“now you’ll get what you’ve always wanted.”_

Stan leans down, pressing his chest to Kyle’s, able to feel Kyle’s hard nipples even as he just lays over him.

He purrs into his ear, **_“And I’ll finally get my revenge.”_ **

_“Fuck!”_ Kyle yells, both for the words, the sentiment, and the fact that just then, Stan lets his cock glance along his rim, feeling the heat, the firmness of his cock head.

Stan presses down on him entirely, from lips crushing Kyle’s in a heated kiss to his torso collapsing onto him, all the way to his hips which he spurs further forward.

Cock still firmly in hand, he drives it into Kyle’s tight little hole, feeling the amazing resistance against his glans, still so small he can’t fit at all, can barely even feel it yet–

“Ah, Stan!” Kyle cries into his mouth, hands clawing up his back in desperation.

Stan opens his eyes at exactly the wrong time, vision completely taken up by Kyle’s flush face filled with tears, overcome with so many emotions at once he himself doesn’t even fucking know how he feels any more.

_“I’m a virgin!”_

Stan pauses immediately, stops trying to press himself inside as he looks down to Kyle in shock.

“You’re… a virgin?”

Kyle nods, looking him right in the eyes as he squeaks out, _“Yes. I’ve… I’ve had…_ **_opportunities_ ** _a few times, but I didn’t want to… I wanted to save myself for_ **_you,_ ** _Stan…”_

Stan hesitates another second, just taking in this information.

It wasn’t as though it was a huge surprise that Kyle, the nerd, was still yet a virgin… after all, Kenny was, so who even fucking knows anymore.

But still, to hear that Kyle had been saving himself exclusively in the pipe-dream scenario that he was even vaguely interested in just fucking him?

God, how can Stan not take Kyle in a tight embrace, snap him up and fill his mouth with his tongue, smash his hips forward to hear him moan?

Fuck, Kyle might be a loser, but he was definitely Stan’s loser.

Now, at least, he was.

And would always be. Stan would make sure of that.

With just the right movement of his hips, his fingers guiding his cock inside of Kyle’s relaxing hole, he manages to force himself inside him.

And, **fuck,** it’s _tight_ as all _fucking hell._

Almost _too_ fucking tight. Like a squeezing vice around Stan’s cock head which has only just begun to breach him, making it nigh-impossible to continue moving forward.

But then again, Stan definitely shouldn’t move forward quite yet, because it seems his friend is having a breakdown all the way down Stan’s throat, keening and grimacing against him, trying to spread his hips, relax himself like he knows he has to, but–

_Fuck,_ it’s hard!

Because Stan’s just so fucking big, so girthy, wide and unforgiving even as the mushroom head of it has just begun to penetrate Kyle’s hole, like three or four of his slender fingers fucking him all the way open.

And the fact that this was a foreign object of pure flesh, filled with pumping blood making it hot as the rest of his body, that makes it even fucking harder for Kyle. Maybe it’s a psychological thing, but he just can’t take the extra pressure that creates, making him unable to unclench his hole painfully bearing down, trying to push Stan’s cock out even though he wants it in _so bad–_

“Kyle,” his friend purrs into his lips, letting him gasp deep, shuddering breaths.

“Kyle, it’s okay,” Stan says. And God, he just sounds so _heart-broken,_ so legitimately, tooth-rottingly _caring,_ that Kyle can’t help but sigh, letting his body go lax beneath his larger friend.

Because he trusts him.

He has to.

And he always has.

And that seemed to work out well enough, so why wouldn’t it work from now on?

_“Stan,”_ Kyle moans, finally feeling something other than the tight pain of before, the ache within him slowly giving way to some sort of deep pleasure. _“More. Give me more.”_

Stan takes his lips up again and presses further inside, inches of his long cock driving straight into Kyle’s guts, making both of them groan over the long minute or two it takes for him to continue sheathing himself fully inside.

And then he bottoms out, his balls pressed firmly to Kyle’s ass. He’s inside him now.

_All the way fucking inside him._

_God, that was_ **_amazing to know._ **

Kyle wiggles his hips, yes, overcome with such intense, mind-blowing feelings of the fact that this was actually happening, Stan’s entire fucking throbbing cock was inside his ass, just like he’d always dreamt, but now he wants _even more._

Stan just chuckles before slowly drawing out, giving him plenty of time to adjust.

Kyle _really was_ a needy whore, wasn’t he?

The withdrawal hurts, both physically and emotionally, but they make it all the way until Stan only has the bulbous head of his glans seated inside him, sparking still with electric pleasure from the way Kyle’s hole twitches around him.

He doesn’t want to admit it aloud, but yeah, Kyle’s ass was definitely a million times better than Wendy’s pussy.

Or probably any pussy, for that matter.

He looks down to see his cock dripping wet with lube, a string still connecting him to Kyle’s hole now obviously gaping, such a crazy sight that only gets even more insane when he bucks his hips forward to push his cock head right back home.

Kyle moans as he’s filled again, his thighs instinctively squeezing down on Stan’s hips, drawing him closer, pushing him down by cloying arms pulling him into a tight hug. His wild curls tickle Stan’s face, their breaths almost unbearably hot in the car that seems desert hot what with their body heat, the exertion.

But he _certainly_ can’t fucking stop now, _fully sheathed inside his best friend._

So Stan starts to fuck him with practised ease, something he’s done dozen of times with Wendy before. So he knows more or less what he’s doing, how to move his hips, twist his legs beneath him even on the seat—never done it in a car, funnily enough.

And here was Kyle, pinned beneath him as he fucks him full and empty of his big cock, making him writhe easily under his draping body, losing his virginity in one.

What a fucking guy.

Kyle pants into his ear, eyes sealed shut in intense pleasure of being so full, _finally so fucking full._

Not just physically, either, although that was _certainly_ lovely.

It was more than emotionally, too.

Almost fucking… spiritually, as fucking gay as that is.

As Stan drives his cock balls-deep inside him, picking up speed and finding just the right place to kneel on the seat, grabbing Kyle by the ass to raise him into the air so he can fuck him even easier, it feels like Kyle’s **_fucking complete._ **

_Like all was_ **_finally right_ ** _with the world._

_After so much trouble and toil, he’d finally gotten exactly what he’d wanted for so many long, horrible, unbearable years._

And all it took was getting fucked in the ass by his best friend in some parking lot.

Kyle almost giggles at his stupid, fucked-out thoughts.

Because he’d say it was worth it.

Definitely.

**_“Ah!”_ **he moans suddenly, thoughts dying into one singular point of shocking pleasure as Stan skirts his thrusts up, his cock glancing right on Kyle’s prostate.

_“Oh!”_ Kyle pants on the withdrawal, barely looking up to his friend through lust-filled eyes. _“Do that again, Stan!”_

“Yeah?” Stan grins, leaning down and licking his lips almost _proudly._ “You like that?”

Kyle nods dumbly, reduced to an obedient mess beneath him as he stutters, “Y-yes! A-again, please!”

Stan figures that good enough, so on the rebound makes sure to twist his pelvis up just right, hitting right against the top of Kyle’s guts and making him nearly scream beneath him, the car shaking with his sudden movement up, claws scratching on the seat, the window, almost as though he were trying to get away.

And, well, he probably wasn’t that far off. If a stranger found them, they’d probably suspect murder or a kidnapping before anything else with the way Kyle starts to shriek, their thrusts rocking the car as his prostate continues to be struck mercilessly, hole pounded hard as Stan laughs above him.

“I should’ve known you were a screamer,” he rumbles against his chest, bringing his hands up Kyle’s hip bones to his sensitive sides, playing his fingers along his soft skin just to make him writhe further like some sick torture before he reaches his destination.

Brings his nipples between his fingertips and toys with them cruelly, delighting in the way Kyle jumps, moans raggedly, not even capable of any words beyond _“fuck” “no”_ and, of course, _“Stan!”_

**_“Stan!”_ **he whines, wanting to shout but finding himself unable to control even his voice any more, body trembling despite him at the overwhelming sensations of dual pleasure and pain.

Stan’s cock so large and hard and fucking hot drilling in and out of his wet hole, pushing on his prostate every other half-second thrust, his hard thighs slapping against his ass hard enough it _hurt,_ could imagine it getting red and bruised from his ruthless fucks into his pliant body.

His fingers fucking _tugging_ at his hard little nipples, pulling and yanking to make him yelp before it breaks off into a strangled moan, his hind-brain trying its hardest to get away, to find some sort of stability in such a horribly overwhelming situation, but he just can’t, just can’t get away–

Because Stan’s large body presses him down, all over him from ass to thigh to torso to shoulder, lips coming in a growl to slam even his mouth down, his skull digging hard into the edge of the window, and _fuck!_

It’s only then he remembers with wide eyes they’re in a fucking car, fuck, in a parking lot where anyone could see them, where any voyeur could be spying on them, watching them, watching him lose his precious virginity to another guy, but not just any guy, his naïve friend.

_His naïve friend_ who turns out to be _not-so-naïve,_ evident now as he laughs wickedly into Kyle’s lips, drinking in the moan he gets in turn.

Grabs him by his tits and digs his thighs beneath his ass, slapping his skin hard against the pale flesh dappled in freckles of his friend, only feeling the way his flesh jiggles against him right now, loathfully unable to watch for the position they’re in.

He’s about to say something smart when suddenly a muffled sound stops him, coming from right out the window above him.

Their sex pauses for a moment, Stan’s hard thrust stuttering mid-way and bottoming out almost reluctantly as they both look over Kyle’s shoulder through the steamy window, enraptured.

Because there’s flashes of colour out there again.

Fireworks.

_“Again?”_ they both mutter in unison, glancing from the lights sparking the pitch sky to each other in a tizzy.

And then Stan quickly snaps his hips out only to push them forward again, snickering at Kyle’s keen that follows, a slap to his wrist still on his chest following that.

Stan grins in Kyle’s vision, moonlight reflecting off his teeth and his eyes, sparkling with the vivid lights outside, softened by the heated metal of the car.

_“Guess they missed the after-party, huh?”_

Kyle just groans at the stupid joke, considering their obvious little _“after-party”_ right here, cock seated fully inside him and everything.

“That’s okay,” Stan practically purrs, digging his elbows into Kyle’s ribs to make him lay fully down again, back turned to the fireworks and forced to stare right at Stan who looms over him. Grinning widely.

_“Wouldn’t want them to see this, after all, would we?”_

_“Shit!”_ Kyle yells, fucked in a powerful thrust that makes his toes curl in, his eyes squint shut as searing hot pleasure volts up his spinal cord and whites out his mind.

The explosions continue playing in the city down the cliff, muffled and nearly-ignored by the young lovers in their little Prius, fucking desperately against one another as they draw closer and closer to their inevitable end.

_“Ah!”_ Kyle whimpers, _“Stan!”_

The redhead bites his swollen lip hard enough to tease blood, rolling his head up against the windowsill and panting, Stan’s fingers starting up again on his nipples. He watches through slitted eyes as his boyfriend flicks his hands up, licking the tips of them with a mess of wet spit before slapping them back down.

**_Ah, and fuck!_ ** does that wet, cold sensation on his overheating body feel **_so fucking good_ **it was fucking ridiculous.

**_“Stan!”_ **Kyle shouts now, squeezing his thighs together in a vice-grip around his friend who continues to pound into him regardless, totally careless.

_“What?”_ a low voice comes in his ear, making a shiver race up his spine, sweat on the nape of his neck go cold.

He slams into him, sighing at the pleasure as he growls, **_“You gonna_ ** **cum?”**

**_Oh, fuck!_ **

That voice, it just fucking does things to Kyle, such unimaginable, unreasonable things that he has to quickly wind his hand from Stan’s sweaty back to between their even sweatier abdomens, reaching all the way down to Stan’s crotch just to cup the base of his own leaking cock so he won’t **_fucking cum._ **

A sudden hand snaps up his wrist, squeezing hard enough to pop his bones inside, make him call out in pain that leaks into confused pleasure on another fast thrust in, the heat all around him, the pressure of Stan’s muscles digging into every square inch of skin _so fucking good for no fucking reason._

**“Don’t touch yourself!”** he snaps.

“I-I, I was g-gonna–”

**“I don’t care!”** Stan snarls into his cheek, like a wild animal with the way he then bites down on his neckline, makes Kyle scream even more before he licks at the salt of his sweat, muttering,

**“Don’t. Fucking, Touch. Your. Cock.”**

_“I’m sorry!”_

_“Ah, ah!”_ Kyle moans, head lolling back useless as he feels himself so close, so fucking close, hand falling to the leather as he just takes it all, gonna cum on Stan’s fucking cock, God fucking **_yes–_ **

**_“Are you cumming now?”_ **

“Y-Y–”

**_“Not yet,”_ ** he chuckles dark, grabbing up Kyle’s hips as he thrusts somehow even harder into him. More wanton, stuttery, almost amateur.

_Desperate. Almost cumming._

Kyle knows what he has to do as he drags his nails through the leather chair, hooking into his locks as he pulls at his scalp and moans uncontrollably. His legs seize around Stan’s still fucking into him, purposefully angling up to scrape his prostate, trying to make him cum just so he can punish him later, but Kyle can’t let that happen. He can’t fucking lose. He won’t.

It takes literally every last ounce of willpower he has, every thrust, every hard dig of Stan’s nails into the supple fat of his ass like a blow to his fucking heart, going straight to his dick which throbs, leaks pre cum all between their bellies in a horrible fucking mess. Just over and over and over again, but Kyle can do it.

He can bear the blows, can think enough to squeeze his eyes shut, concentrate on clenching his hole at just the right time so Stan will feel it fully sheathed, push his ass down to meet his thrusts and make him cum before he does–

And he thinks he’s got it, Stan doubling over with a loud groan right into his eardrum, his cock jumping inside his tight hole like he’s orgasming.

The snicker reverberating in Kyle’s skull tells him otherwise, though.

And face filled with horror, Kyle just can’t block it out when Stan whispers wet into his ear:

**_“Mmm, you have such a, a wonderful fucking_ ** **pussy,** **_Kyle.”_ **

No, no, no no no no–

**_“You take my cock so fucking well, s-so much better than Wendy ever could, y’know? So boring, so loose, unlike your tight little slutty hole.”_ **

Kyle wants to say this is fucking cheating but instead, all that comes out is a whorish moan, hard nipples piercing up into Stan’s abs, making him shake as they betray him and shoot yet more pleasure into his delirious body.

**_“I could fuck you literally all day, all night. In fact, I think I’ll fuck you every day, for the rest of our fucking lives. Would you like that, Kyle? Huh, baby?”_ **

_Ohhh,_ **_babyyy–_ **

A finger traces up his entire lithe body to play with his thick red lips, toying with them as he says low:

**_“Don’t you just have the best pussy in the world, Kyle? Aren’t I gonna seed you full of hot cum after your cunt orgasms all around me? Huh?”_ **

Kyle tries to shake his head, but Stan’s hand cupping his chin stops him entirely, thumb drawing spit from his tongue and slicking his lips with it, “accidentally” smearing it all around his mouth because he keeps fucking hard up into him all the while.

**_“Come on, Kyle. Just do it, you know you want to. I don’t want you to, you would be a bad girl then, if you came before me. Impolite. But,”_ ** he rumbles, sliding two fingers into his drooling mouth, **_“I can forgive you.”_ **

Stan leans forward, pinning Kyle against the wall until he can’t fucking writhe an inch, nowhere to go but further into his mind, squeezing even the air from his heaving lungs as he presses down and purrs, **_“You can make it up to me by letting me fuck you_ ** **later.”**

**Oh, fuck it!**

It’s that wonderful promise of _“fuck you later”_ that has Kyle finally cumming around Stan’s cock as the fireworks reach a crescendo, thighs shaking in a way they would surely give out if he weren’t already lying down as he ejaculates stripes onto Stan’s belly, hole clenching hard on his cock still fucking in and out of him.

He enters a state of _pure fucking euphoria,_ blinding white _heaven,_ making him forget the entire world for a good few seconds, _just pleasure,_ **_pleasure,_ ** _deep,_ **_deep, carnal, whole_ ** **pleasure.**

And with a groan of _“Kyle!”,_ Stan finally gets there, grinding his cock all the way inside his twitching pussy so he can bury his sperm inside him, just as promised.

Kyle can’t really feel it, honestly, but seeing Stan’s face contorted in pleasure above him, still strangling the wind from him so it leaves him in a trance-like state, it’s nice.

_Really_ fucking nice.

To feel Stan’s cock twitching inside his cunt, balls seizing against his ass so he knows he’s just dumping his entire load inside him in streams, white coating his walls as he _breeds him._

_It’s what he’s_ **_always_ ** _fucking wanted._

One last firework whistles outside, and then the night is silent once again.

Stan comes down from the mind-shattering high, both of them left in a mess of pants and smiles.

And a literal mess, too.

But Kyle decides they can deal with that in just a second, arms flinging around Stan’s shoulders to pull him tight, fingers then sliding over his jawline to grin into his face, drunk with afterglow.

_“That was_ **_fucking amazing,_ ** _Stan,”_ he says, his body feeling more relaxed than it has in _decades._

“Better than your dreams?” Stan asks, tilting his head, still buried within his friend.

Kyle nods, giggling. “Oh, yeah. Better than I _ever could have fucking imagined.”_

Stan laughs, pulling him into one last kiss before they clean all this shit up, for him to discretely throw it away at his house alone later.

The sex was so fucking great that twenty minutes later, as Stan is regretfully seeing Kyle off to go have to be gasped at by his mom for returning at one thirty in the fucking morning, they’re both still so high and ballsy that they risk a kiss right in the _driveway._

After the relatively chaste kiss through the car window, Kyle leans an arm on the sill, his warm demeanour making up for the chill that rushes into the car.

“That was the best fucking night of my entire God damned life,” he smiles.

Stan laughs.

“Agreed, dude.”

And as Stan drives off into the night a couple minutes and goodbyes later, Kyle’s left there to just bask under the street light a block away.

The memories of the sex that still has him aching—makes him limp slightly up the pavement—and _oh shit, he has a full-blown hickey on his neck–_

But it just makes him smile to himself as he stands on the sidewalk to his childhood home, glancing to the tall front door.

_And it_ **_almost_ ** _makes up for the soul-crushing guilt when his grin falters, knowing what awaits him._

**Just** **_almost_ ** **makes up for it when a light flicks on inside.**

_Oh, God…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Well, I hope that 8k word fuck wasn’t too long, but idefk 
> 
> I hope your year may be just as good, if not much better, than the last! I’m gonna try to work and write every day, lest I am physically unable to lol.


	7. Baby, It’s Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**“Alright! So let’s get you two lovebirds to fuck again, huh?!”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> More sex! Little hints at plot, but mostly just explicit, explicit sex! :D

_January 3rd, 2020 - Friday_

“Nice hickey, Kyle.”

Kyle’s hand slaps down on his neck at the speed of light, but it’s far too late, damage done as Kenny smirks at him.

“Did it work? The ice skates?”

Kyle rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

This was _his_ fucking house God dammit, he should just fucking kick Kenny out right now.

“Think it was more so us just being horny idiots, thanks.”

“Oh!” Kenny gasps, wriggling his fingers as he turns from the show on the TV to just stare, transfixed at Kyle’s pissed face.

“Tell me _all_ about it, dude!” he laughs.

“After all, y’know, **_I’m_ ** still a _virgin!”_

“Yeah, and my dad’s the fucking pope. Shut the fuck up, Kenny.”

_“I am!”_ he cries. “What do I have to say to make you believe me, man?! Fucking show you my cherry or some shit?! Trust me, dude, if I could, I fucking would, but I can’t, because I don’t got one! _I mean, not cause I'm not a virgin, but because I'm a guy and–”_

Kenny just gives up, grabbing his phone off the desk and swiping his short contact list right before Kyle’s slitted eyes.

“See?! Butters, you, Stan, Eric, Mom, Kevin, Karen, Boss, Dad, and no fucking chick anywhere to be seen!”

“I have ten fucking followers on Twitter, and **_look!_ **Not a single one a girl!”

He accidentally clicks someone's profile with a wayward thumb, Freudian slip, perhaps, as he taps the media tab on muscle memory.

His eyes go wide at a certain one just a few weeks ago.

_The great big Christmas party…_

Kenny took the picture himself, of course. Step back, tilted a little for the French angle, pointed up and lower than eye level so it's a little…

_Weird._

_Up the fluff of the cotton hem, the white stockings on his little legs descending into darkness just beneath his skirt. The high blush on his cheeks above, both natural and artificial, combined with the way his lined eyes lid to look down just solidifies it:_

_A_ **_little_ ** **risqué,** _perhaps–_

**“Butters does** **_not_ ** **count as a** **_girl!”_ **he slams his phone back down.

Kyle snickers. “Really proved that point, man. I **_really_ ** _fucking_ **_believe_ ** _you now.”_

Kenny groans. “Okay, fine! Just tell me how your first time went and I’ll leave you alone!”

Kyle shakes his head, pursing his lips and trying his hardest to get wrapped up in the story before him.

But it’s a Netflix original and that’s just physically fucking impossible, so he turns to Kenny and sighs.

“Okay. You wanna know how it went?”

“Yeah!”

“It went great. Fucking fantastic. Stan was really amazing, and hot, and everything I’ve fucking ever wanted in my entire fucking life, but now we haven’t been able to do it again ‘cause either my family’s home, or his is, or our siblings are, or what if the dog knows, or _some_ shit. And we can’t book a fucking hotel or anything, can’t fuck in the car again, s–”

**“You lost your virginity in a fucking car?!”**

**Aw,** **_fuck._ **

Kenny guffaws for an entire _minute,_ much to Kyle’s absolute chagrin and _unbearable_ **fucking** embarrassment, slapping Kyle on the back when he recovers with a wheeze.

“How romantic, Broflovski! Is there anywhere better to even do it?! A bathroom!? An alleyway? _Maybe a fucking landfill?!_ **_Hahahaha,_ ** **what the** **_fuck!”_ **

“Shut the fuck up, Kenny!” Kyle cries, slapping his hand away and crossing his arms, scooting further into the corner of his desk.

“You stop laughing right the fuck now or else I’m gonna kick you outta my house! And you’re never coming back after that!”

Kenny puts his hands up, shaking breaths of dying chuckles remaining now. “Alright, alright! Ehem, okay, dude.” He returns his palms to his knees, smiling, “That’s good! Proud of you! You’re a real man now!”

“Am I?”

Kenny nods. “Oh, sure! You’ve experienced sex with your dream guy, what more could you possibly want in life?”

“I don’t know, my degree, a stable job, a nice house of my own, maybe a cat or three…”

“You know what I meant!”

And then Kenny suddenly slaps his hand on the wood of the desk, sharp enough to make Kyle jump as the blonde turns way too excitedly to him.

_“But do you want kids?!”_

**_“Kids?!”_ **

Kenny nods, pure giddy and grins as he says, “Oh, yeah! You know, those awful little things that run around and steal all your money but I guess might be worth it somehow in the end? Those!”

Kyle shrugs, breathing out a sound of pure exasperation.

“I don’t know, man! I hardly know what I fucking want to eat every meal, how the fuck am I supposed to know if I want a damn kid?!”

“Welp,” Kenny says, poking a finger into Kyle’s sweater, “better start thinking fast, Kyle."

" ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re gonna get pregnant!”

Kyle makes a face of complete and utter confusion.

_Because how could Kenny possibly be this stupid._

Not the Mpreg thing, obviously he’s just making a retarded joke about that. Even Coloradan public education couldn’t fuck that up.

But just. The fact that he would joke about that.

Like, does he _have_ a brain? Or maybe it’s just all porn in there?

“No. Kenny. I am not pregnant. I can not get pregnant.”

“You should use a condom, just to be sure!”

_“No,_ I don't need one–”

Kenny jumps out of his seat, snapping a finger accusingly at Kyle.

**_“Aha!_ ** _Mr Safesex himself, not even using a fucking rubber! What a dirty_ whore _you are, Kyle!”_

Said Kyle just rolls his eyes, propping his chin on his hand, elbow on the edge of his table, mumbling, “Okay, yeah, we fucked bareback. Who gives a fuck. We’re both disease-free, it was only a little more of a hassle to clean up afterward, I’d say it was worth it… _I just…"_ green glances away, _"really liked it, just the two of us, nothing in the way I guess…”_

Kenny chuckles, sliding back into his seat and propping his head up similarly.

He breathes eerily romantically between his fingers over his lips, “You really do like Stan, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. I thought that was obviou–”

“No, I mean, _you really_ **_love_ ** _him.”_

Kyle feels himself start to blush, so stares at the wall.

“Got’cha. Hear you loud and clear, Kyle.”

A hand slams down on Kyle’s back at just the right spot to make him cough up any and all breath in his poor lungs.

**_“Alright! So let’s get you two lovebirds to_** _**fuck** _ **_again, huh?!”_ **

*****

_January 4th, 2020 - Saturday_

“I, uh, am starting to have second thoughts about this, Kenny…”

“Too bad, Stan! I drove you fuckers all the way here, out of the goodness of my,” hand over his chest, **_“heart!_ ** So, you gotta stay here until morning when we’re done with our ‘sleep over’ at my house—God, your parents are fucking stupid, don’t they know I live in the smallest apartment in the entire town?—but anyways, yeah! Keep your asses here or else I’ll rat you fuckers out! And you'll definitely have hell to pay then!”

And with one last grin and a wave, Kenny door slams hard enough to shake the entire house, a truck load of snow from the roof falling all around it, visible through the windows. Only the porch saves Kenny and Butters outside from being buried.

_“Sooo…”_ Stan murmurs, locking the front door behind him, “first time you’ve broke and entered?”

“Mmm,” Kyle hums, taking a seat in the dining chair as he glances around, “it’s more like trespassing ‘cause the security system was off and the door was unlocked… And you know we’ve done both of those more than a couple times,” rests his gaze on Stan knowingly, _“together.”_

Stan chuckles, stepping forward. “Sure! I remember that! Fun fucking times, dude. We should get up to some horrible mischief again some day…”

Kyle sighs, waving his hand in the air feeling strange around them. Like they totally shouldn’t be here.

_Mostly because they fucking shouldn’t._

“Aren’t we, right now, though? This is the Testaburger’s old fucking house for fuck’s sake. They only moved out a few _weeks_ ago.”

“Right! Right. ‘Course! Just, uh, I mean, like, more stuff.”

Kyle glances suspiciously at him. “You mean fuck? Did Kenny text you that?”

Stan laughs nervously, caught _red fucking handed._

_Literally,_ because he starts stripping off his gloves just then, skin still lightly frost-bitten pink from the horrid chill out there.

But in here, even with the heat off, it’s much more pleasant.

_Could always be warmer, though._

“Don’t… don’t you? Wanna fuck, I mean?”

Kyle shrugs, crossing his legs slightly on the chair as he digs his phone out of his bag before him.

“I mean, yeah, that was the plan but… maybe we could do some other stuff, y’know? After all, a relationship isn’t just about sex…”

“Right, but that _is_ a very good part.”

Kyle glaring right at him.

“Er, _sometimes!_ But like wine, it just gets better the longer it waits, right?” That analogy _totally_ made sense. “So, sure, let’s do something! Like… uh…”

“You wanna explore the house?”

Stan jumps up.

**_Because oh fuck yes, he does._ **

*****

“Find anything?”

“Nah,” Stan mutters, digging through some empty drawers to find, of course, absolutely nothing of value, objective or subjective. “Empty.”

“Hm,” Kyle hums, hands on his hips as he leans on the vanity, “think this is a lost cause, but it was fun looking around…”

He sighs, taking a few strides toward Stan to lay a hand on his still-moving shoulder, smiling down at him as he says dreamily, “Just imagine, a big house like this, not some shitty dorm with your pothead room-mate… all our own, just the two of us–”

**“Found something!”**

Kyle’s flustered as Stan jumps up, having scrounged under the dresser.

They both look it over as he holds it before their eyes, arms squeezing together as they squint.

“A shirt?” Kyle asks, tilting his head at the clothing.

“Nah,” Stan replies, holding it out so it unravels down, revealing itself for the thinner material than it had previously seemed.

_“It’s a_ **_nightgown,”_ ** Stan sighs, fluffing it out a bit in the air.

Just a light pink slip of silk, little white flower details winding around it. A lacy hem accenting the bottom that seems a bit… _short._

“I bought it for her,” Stan says, a frown on his face when Kyle looks over. “She said she liked it so much, must’ve _'just lost it on the flight to Cali'…_ but here it is, collecting dust under her dresser back in South fucking Park.”

“What a bitch,” Kyle breathes before he can stop himself.

But Stan looks over to him with acceptance, because how could he deny it any longer?

_“Yeah._ **_Major_ ** _bitch.”_

Kyle leans on one hip with a grin, looking the room over once again.

From purple curtained window to clinically white bed, it all feels more familiar, suddenly.

Yet, at the same time, foreign. Brand new.

Ready to be _filled, tainted._

“This is Wendy’s room, then?”

“Yeah. Bit different, think they rearranged some things. But a lot of the stuff’s still the same. _The dresser, the desk, the night stand, the bed…”_

He messes his face up, leaning against the wall with nightgown still gripped firmly in hand, pursing his lips.

“The bed… lot of memories in there.”

Kyle scowls.

_“Yeah?”_ he grinds his teeth.

_Can’t help but be_ **_intensely_ ** _jealous. Just like most any "girlfriend" would be._

“Oh, don’t worry. Most of them are pretty bad, now that I think about it."

"I used to think it was _funny,_ you know. When she would do stuff like yell at me or argue with me for hours for the most innocuous shit. I thought it was… **_endearing somehow.”_ **

He sighs, glancing back down at the little pink excuse for pyjamas. “Just goes to show what the drug of lust can do to you, I guess.”

Kyle breathes out, crossing his arms as he goes to sit on the bed.

Felt weird, knowing this was once Stan’s precious girlfriend’s room. That she had lived here for decades, sat on this very bed thousands of times, done all sorts of things…

Kyle turns.

_“How many times have you fucked her?”_

“Huh?” Stan sputters, taken aback as he snaps his gaze to Kyle.

“How many times have you had sex with her? Here or… anywhere, maybe.”

“I-I… I don’t know, man–”

“Give me a rough estimate, then.”

“Maybe… I don’t know, ten, twenty times here—counting foreplay and stuff too—twenty times elsewhere?”

Kyle hmphs. Unreadable. “And you’ve actually fucked her a few times, right?”

“Yeah…”

He spreads his fingers out on his thighs, biting his lip. “And how did that go?”

_“I… do I_ **_really_ ** _have to–”_

“Yes. I want to know about it, Stan. What happened over the years. How you really felt.” Kyle looks up to him, green meeting blue in a gaze like a challenge. “I want you to think about it. Really think about it.”

So Stan pauses, going still in the bedroom, silent but for the wind howling outside, snow the only movement as it smears on the window.

“It… It was bad. Every fucking time.” He closes his eyes, both in recollection and in something almost like pain. “Like, I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t get in the mood. Couldn’t…” he hides his face between his fingers, _“keep it up…”_

“It’s okay, dude,” Kyle says before him, when Stan peeks through his hand finding him to be beckoning him closer. “That makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

When Stan takes a seat beside him on the edge of Wendy’s old bed, Kyle purses his lips, sighing. “Ah, dammit, I sound… _I think I’m kinda…”_

“What?” Stan asks, worried of the answer but too damn curious for his own good.

“Sometimes, I really worry I’m just _manipulating_ you, Stan.”

Stan tilts his head. _“Manipulating me?_ **_Me?”_ **

“Yeah.”

“What about **_you, Kyle!”_ **

It’s Kyle’s turn to furrow his brow. _“What do you mean?_ **I’m** the one who thought it first, who’s been in love with you for ye–”

“Exactly!” Stan claps his hands, looking much too excited. “You’ve been crushing on me for practically forever, Kyle! Don’t you think that might distort your view of me? Make me seem like a, I don’t know, like a dreamier version of my actual self?”

Kyle pauses for a moment, putting a smooth fingernail to his bottom lip.

And then he **fucking laughs.**

“You _really_ think I think you’re all fucking that, Stanley Marsh?!” Kyle cackles, clutching his sides and wrinkling the covers beneath his ass, “I **know** you’re a piece of shit! A drunk, a stubborn fuck, and, above all else, maybe the dumbest person I fucking know! And I know _Cartman!”_

Kyle leans over to tap Stan’s crinkled nose, laughter descending into a few giggles now.

“Don’t be too mad, dude. It’s a good thing! Means I’m certainly not the one being manipulated here, _no siree!”_

Stan crosses his arms, but must admit Kyle looks real fucking cute in the dim light from a candle warmer they found. Beginning to smell like cinnamon and cherries, too. _Mmm…_

“Well, Kyle, call me an idiot all you want, but I think I’m not being _manipulated,_ either! In fact, I think all you guys have been doing is just convincing my apparently very stubborn ass to realize what my heart’s always known but refused to acknowledge, deep, deep down!”

Kyle’s gawking before him.

**_“Really?”_ **

“Yeah! I’ve already said this, Kyle!” Stan huffs, snapping his friend's wrist up and doing… nothing, really.

Kyle looks down at the handhold, then up to Stan. “Yeah, but you were about to fuck me, then…”

“So? Just because I'm horny doesn't mean I just spout a bunch of bull!”

Kyle simpers, twisting his wrist in Stan's firm hold. “Is that right?” Snickers, leaning closer. _“Am I still a bad_ **_girl?”_ **

Stan grimaces, but presses down on Kyle's flesh persistently. “Oh, you're the fucking worst, Kyle…”

Kyle giggles, waving his fingers through the air. “Oh, don't worry, Stan. The only reason I know **_those_ ** _words by_ **_heart_ ** _is because I've thought of them_ **_so many times…”_ **

Now it's Stan's turn to lean in, smiling, although it's tainted by _something._ _“Really?”_

“Mmhmm. Oh, four whole days without any action? That’s like _eternity_ for a _young man_ like me, you know… especially after such a **_wonderful show…”_ **

Stan curves his spine down, looking Kyle right in the eyes, matching the sparkle of mischief in them exactly as he grins:

**_“Didn’t we just agree that you were a_ ** **girl,** **_Kyle?”_ **

“Oh!” Kyle purrs, letting Stan’s lips fall upon his own. _“I’m terribly sorry, Stan!”_

“That’s okay,” his friend says between nipping at his plump lips in the warm light, hand still holding the nightgown running down his spine. **_“You can always make it up to me, huh?”_ **

One last lick of his tongue into Kyle’s mouth and then he has him against the covers, pushing down with his muscles still athletic from football, listening to his best friend huff beneath him as the air leaves his lungs, nightgown crushed under his back and immediately forgotten.

**_“By letting me fuck you…”_ **

_A wet mouth right to his ear._

**_“Remember?”_ **

_“Yes, yes, oh yes!”_ Kyle cries, snatching Stan’s clothes between his horny fingers, his already dripping erection pressing against Stan’s jeans.

_“I could never forget, OhmyfuckingGod!”_ Kyle whines, pushing his shirt up just as Stan does, moaning loudly when he brings his fingers to his pink nipples. 

_“Y-you have no_ **_idea_ ** _how many times I’ve jerked off to that, Stan! That_ **_exact_ ** _sentence, oh_ **_fuck!_ ** _I-I could cum ri-right now, swear to fucking God, just fucking thinking about it! Like a Pavlovian response or some shit–”_

_“Mmm,”_ Stan growls above him, dragging his hands down from Kyle’s tits to his flat stomach, down and into his grey sweatpants. _“Don’t tell_ **_me_ ** _about Pavlov, Kyle, ‘cause_ **_every fucking time_ ** _I see you now, when you’re all laid out before me–”_

Kyle whines when Stan presses his face down to his neck, running over his tight curls, inhaling deep and humming with pleasure.

**_“You smell,_ ** **taste, so** **_fucking_ ** **good.”**

_“Ah! L-like what?”_

Stan grins, running his thumb over Kyle’s leaking slit in his boxers just as he says:

**_“Like the most delicious meal in the world, like fucking heaven made real, something for me to just consume and take, take,_ ** **take!”**

**“Fuck!”** Kyle shouts, throwing his head all the way back on the bed near enough to snap it as he writhes in pleasure, hips bucking despite him because **_fuck,_ ** it’s Stan’s fucking hand, his wonderful, solid fingers coming back over his cockhead only to run down the slight bulges of veins here and there, nail digging into his slit just to sadistically grin at the whimper he receives in turn.

**_“God, I wanna eat you so fucking bad, Kyle,”_ ** Stan pants, dragging his lips, teeth over Kyle’s sharp jawline. **_“Will you let me do that?_ ** **Eat** **_you?”_ **

“E-eat me? Like _vore_ shit, I don’t really–”

“Come on Kyle,” Stan chuckles too light-heartedly for a moment, then his eyes go dark once again, pressing his thumb down over his glans cruelly.

**_“Eat your_ ** **pussy** **_out.”_ **

_“O-oh!”_ Kyle breathes, face instantly going red but he knows Stan already sees it all, so looks up to him, his face a mere inch from his.

“You want me to rim you, or not? Huh? I could also give you a blowjob, if you want–”

**“Yes!”** Kyle snaps before slapping a hand over his mouth, saying shyly through it, “I-I mean, sure… dude. Hah, i-if you want. Which you do, so, yes! Of course! The blowjob also sounds nice, but I would kinda wanna return the favour, if you know what I mean,” spreads his fingers over his bitten lips, _“only if you want me to, obviously…”_

Stan chuckles above him, shaking his head slightly so his short black hair swishes.

“You’re so dumb, man **. Of course** I want a _blowjob!”_ he laughs, ripping Kyle’s lower half completely naked in a matter of a second. “What kinda man wouldn’t?!”

Kyle is utterly surprised to suddenly be rendered bare, but finds he doesn’t really mind all that much when Stan’s hands run over his naked hips, curving down into his thighs and making him full-body shudder like he always does.

_Fuck, why couldn’t it feel half as good when he touched himself?_

_It just wasn’t fucking fair…_

“Aw,” Stan sighs above him as he squeezes the slight fat padding Kyle’s inner thighs, back round his ass and the rest of his legs. “You know, it doesn’t really make sense.”

“Hm?”

“How you can be so _skinny_ yet so _thick_ at the same time.”

“Thick?”

“Yeah, like–”

Kyle blushes, glancing away. “I-I know what it _means,_ Stan. Just, **_weird._ ** _Coming from you, about me, you know…”_

Stan laughs above him, but it gets oddly quiet, same as his voice when he speaks into the warm air, “Well, it’s true, you know.” Dragging his hands down to his knees. “You almost have the hips of a girl. Almost curvier than Wendy, at least in your lower half…”

“You guys used to make fun of me for that in gym, remember?” Kyle pouts, still looking away in embarrassment.

“It’s _weird,_ sure,” Stan says, “But _now_ I _finally_ get to appreciate how nice it is, too!”

Kyle looks down the millisecond he feels something **wet** grace his thigh, so even as his eyes begin to take in the sight, _about fucking jumps out of his God damned skin._

Because, God, Stan is _licking_ him.

Like, actually _licking him._

His large tongue sweeping up his thigh, from midway and drawing up toward his hip bone, ending a bit early. Tasting the salt of the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, the phantom memory of delicious Hanukkah flavours almost _real_ on his taste buds.

_God, he actually wanted to eat Kyle._

_Like, literally._ Vore _shit._

But, of course, he can’t fucking do that.

So he’ll settle for the next best thing.

Kyle whines high in his throat when that tongue returns, watching as Stan takes the red organ from the top of his thigh more toward the inside, sliding down over the tendons and the heat of vessels, feeling the softness of his adipose tissue, the fat that gives beneath his slight pressure.

Stan feels his dick throb in his jeans, but denies himself now, but for a slight thrust of his hips.

_No, he’s going to make Kyle cum._

_At least once._

_And_ **_just_ ** _from getting eaten out._

Stan’s tongue draws steadily up in swipes near Kyle’s groin, making his legs shake and his small dick throb in the air, shiny pearls of clear pre beading at the tip.

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”_ Kyle breathes, barely audible for the wind rattling outside, but it makes Stan grin anyway, the furious sounds of outside becoming muffled with both of their head rushes.

The anticipation builds steadily in Kyle, making his thighs shake, buck without him, his cocklet tensing so he feels like he could actually orgasm right the fuck now. Just from seizing his pelvic floor muscles, from watching Stan’s pitch hair slowly draw closer to his crotch, red tongue barely visible anymore past his cock.

That weird, unbelievable foreign feeling only grows infinitely stronger when Stan’s tongue moves from inner thigh to the bottom of his ass, starting from the crease between his leg and butt.

Just a millimetre’s difference, but it means so fucking much for some reason, sending tingles all through Kyle’s body and making him moan like a fucking whore on the bed.

Kyle chokes.

_Wendy’s bed._

_Oh fucking hell, he was about to get his ass eaten out on_ **_Wendy’s_ ** _fucking bed._

But there’s no time for unbearable shame now, because Stan’s wonderful tongue quickly moves from the squishy muscle of his ass and closer to the middle, licking in short swipes now, his spit getting everywhere and rendering his skin shiny.

Kyle bucks his hips, shaking his head, but Stan can’t see it.

“Heh,” Stan laughs from beneath him, breath hot right on his hole and making Kyle’s spine bolt as a result, “are you _always_ clean, Kyle?”

“T-takes just a m-minute– **fuck!** A-and I knew this would definitely **_happen!”_ **

Kyle’s voice goes high, too high for his vocal cords anymore as it’s rendered into a keen.

Because Stan’s tongue suddenly comes down on his hole, flicking over it, immediately trying to fucking breach inside already.

**_“Ah,”_ ** Stan huffs beneath him, smile audible in his voice. “Why do you taste **_even better here?”_ ** he growls. “Like fucking **_honey_ ** or something, that’s so fucking weird, but so **_fucking awesome.”_ **

Stan’s clearly out of his mind with lust, but Kyle can’t even begin to fucking reprimand him as such, too busy ripping his head back and snagging his hands through thin black hair, rending his throat apart with his screams of pleasure as Stan’s tongue comes back over his hole.

_His pussy,_ Kyle reminds himself.

_Mm, yes, his_ **_pussy._ **

Stan fucks his tongue in like it is one anyway, grinning stupidly in satisfaction at the easy shout he gets, the way Kyle tugs on his hair and whines needy.

He buries his tongue inside as quick as he’s able, pressing inside with relative ease until he’s at the base of his organ, all the way inside him and making him writhe above.

Kyle moans his name, broken and muffled as he shoves his fists against his mouth to keep from being too loud, to ground himself.

It’s just too much, he thinks as he squeezes his thighs around Stan’s head that begins to move, tongue flicking inside his hole.

Stan presses his tongue up and, **_fuck!_ ** the tip of it pushes right across Kyle’s prostate, the gland subsequently stroking along the length of his cock internally, making him just about scream–

And then Stan rips his tongue back out, a few dewy strings of spit connecting him still to Kyle’s cunt.

“Mm,” he hums, licking it up, tongue waving over his lips as he grins up at Kyle whose face is almost as red as his fucking hair now. “You _are_ **_delicious,_ ** Kyle. I never would have known eating a pussy out could actually be _enjoyable_ for me!”

“You never did it to W–”

“Oh, no, I did! _Trust me!”_ Stan rolls his eyes, flicking his tongue back against Kyle’s pink hole and making him whine. “Just something about the way it always went, how insistent she was, how boring she made it, the atmosphere was all wrong.”

Kyle manages to snicker even as Stan presses the flat of his tongue against his cunt. **_“ ‘Atmosphere’?_ ** _You really_ are _gay–_ Ah, **fuck!”**

Kyle is reduced to balling his hands into fists into his mouth again, Stan pressing a spit-slick finger up and into his pussy. Hooking his fingertip right over the little bump inside him that never fails to make him scream.

_God, if only Wendy could do that… Maybe it could have even saved them._

_Probably not, though._

“Bi. At most. And even then, aren’t you pretty girly, too?”

Kyle pants above him, feeling his nipples drag almost uncomfortably on the wool of his sweater, but is able to snap back, _“I-I didn’t know just calling a guy’s asshole a pussy actually made it one! Or magically give him D-cup tits or disappear his dick, hah!”_

Stan scowls, giving Kyle a good glare that makes his friend fill with legitimate fear.

He rends his finger out of his wet pussy, replacing it in a millisecond then with his large tongue.

Kyle’s back arches all the way off of the cover, face contorted in a mixture of misery and intense pleasure that feels **_all too fucking much,_ ** his cock dripping pearls of pre onto the yellow of his sweater, unable to stop it.

He can hardly even think as Stan fills him again all the way with his tongue, carelessly thrusting himself inside and swirling his organ as hard as he’s able, from top to bottom and in circles around.

_But always paying attention to that one special spot._

The spot that makes Kyle fucking melt into the sheet, try to press himself away with a ragged moan, tears coming alive in his eyes just as his cocklet leaks cum just as steadily, seminal fluid pushed out of him just as much as arousal makes him produce sperm.

Stan unfortunately can’t talk with his tongue flicking inside Kyle’s cunt, so supplements by bringing his hands around his thick thighs like earmuffs around his head. Just as warm as them, anyway.

Probably _even_ **_warmer,_ ** _actually._ Kyle’s body feels hot as fucking _coals,_ all around his face, beginning to make them drip with sweat. Drops that go down Kyle’s lower abdomen and over the crease of his plush thighs, past the swell of his ass where they fall right onto Stan’s lips, the salt of his sweat measurable on his tongue.

Stan runs his hands down Kyle’s thighs until he reaches the widest part where he can still get a good grip, feeling the tendons, the muscles straining in his legs as he shakes with near-orgasm already, twitching under his fingers, trying to squeeze together coyly and spread apart like a whore all at the same time.

_So confused,_ Stan grins.

**_He’ll help him._ **

He starts fucking his tongue in and out, coiling it as hard as he can and pressing up into Kyle’s twitching cocklet.

Then he presses his fingers down.

**_Fucking_ ** **presses** **_them down,_ ** **hard.**

Making divots into the fat of Kyle’s fleshy thighs, making him scream incoherently those curse words that flow so easily from his preachy fucking mouth. Stan watches with attentive eyes as his face changes to pure agony, trying to rip his legs out of his hold but, of course, entirely unable to.

**Because Stan is just** **_stronger._ **

Kyle may be _smarter,_ might be taking chemistry courses and aceing them like fucking vanilla cake, but that didn’t matter when it came to simpler things like this.

_When he’s made to lie down on his boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend’s bed, strewn out like a dime-dollar whore and moaning like one too, unable to escape the hands that hold him down, the huge tongue that laps at his cunt and makes him wet like a fucking girl._

**_Nothing he can fucking do_ **when he feels that hot wire inside his belly grow, burning hot, searing his skin until he has to bite down on his own thin fingers just so he doesn’t scream his vocal cords out.

_God,_ he thinks, but is of course entirely unable to speak over his delirious moans, _God, God, fuck, he doesn’t want to cum– No, he can’t cum just from getting eaten out, at least has to–has to touch himself, at least once–_

He’s bringing one of his hands soiled on the one side with his own pathetic saliva, right down to his throbbing cock even though he knows he doesn’t need to fucking touch it, _doesn’t need to even breathe on it before he_ **_cums, fuck–_ **

And then a hand **_crushes_ **his wrist, snapping him up by the bone so hard and fast it literally makes it pop audibly, loudly in the room, and Kyle screams.

Searing pain shoots up his hand, through his fingers and tracing up his arm all the way to his heart, his brain which can hardly even understand what’s going on anymore.

He feels that wonderfully stable, full feeling suddenly drag out of him, leaving him empty, cunt gaping wet.

Kyle manages to open his eyes past the continued waves of agony, seeing around his right wrist is Stan’s hand, his grip loosened a bit but still there, firm.

Then his green eyes flick up to meet blue ones, the usual easy blue of them rendered icy, deep and unconquerable.

**_“Did I say you could touch yourself?”_ **

Kyle bites his lip, pressing himself into the sheets and wanting to just disappear amongst them. His body shivers all over, from the memories of that sharp pain, the ache still in his limp hand, his knees wobbly and shaking from denied orgasm.

_“I-I’m sorry–”_ his voice cracks, so small and laughable.

But Stan isn’t laughing, too filled with an odd, unplaceable rage he doesn’t even fucking understand himself.

He just looks down to Kyle’s lap, between his thighs slick with sweat, as well as cum _and_ spit he’d somehow managed to smear all over himself in his near-climax.

To his hole gaping just the slightest bit, made to look almost like a pussy with how red and swollen it is, glistening with saliva but looking like natural lubricant.

Up and over his taint to where his cocklet is, so small and hard, flushed pure red at the end and _jumping_ in the air, twitching violently as he unconsciously tenses and untenses his ass muscles, hips bucking slightly with urges he can’t fucking meet.

It’s absolute torture, as tears fill his eyes and make him blind, gasping for breath and focusing on his dick so he doesn’t fucking cum.

Because, God, it might be fucking soul-wrenchingly embarrassing to try to touch your own cock only to have your hand nearly broken by your power-crazy friend— _you kinda like that, though, ‘cause you’re_ **_real fucked_ ** _like that, of course_ —but it was another thing **entirely** just _thinking_ about ejaculating while he stares you down.

_Not even touching yourself and cumming right then and there. Just from pure desperation and depravity alone, your leaking, twitching cocklet spurting your weak spurts of sperm all over your sweater just to stain into the fabric uselessly._

_All while he fucking watches, glares you down. Would he be further enraged? Would he spank you for that? Maybe he would just laugh at how miserable you are, how pathetic–_

Kyle shoves his fingers down his mouth, shaking his head on the covers as he tries to squeeze his legs together to deny himself. Fuck, these thoughts are really, really bad–

Oh God! But so is the squeezing the legs together part, because that just moves his cunt exposed to the cool air, jostles his balls and his cocklet standing straight upright, shoots pleasure right up his spine and–

**“Don’t.”**

**“Cum.”**

_“Ahhh, noooo,”_ Kyle moans into his hand, too out-of-his-mind to stop it, too busy trying to still his pelvis that wants so badly to just move, to just cum, cum all over his stomach and get it all over with already–

His eyes squint shut in concentration snap open when he feels breath, hot and humid as fog rain down on his neck, crisp words right in his eardrum:

**_“If you cum right now, I’ll have to punish you. Badly.”_ **

_Would that even be that bad though? What could he possibly–_

**_“I’ll take a picture of you.”_ **

His eyes somehow go even fucking wider.

**_“I’ll post it online. Just some anonymous image board or something. No one will know it’s_ ** **you,** **_but, hey,”_ ** he chuckles dark, growling low, **_“if someone we know_ ** **somehow** **_finds out, that’s not my problem, is it?”_ **

Kyle shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks like a broken dam.

And fuck, his stupid fucking cock still throbs with a fresh pearl of cum when Stan whispers into his ear:

**_“No, it’ll be your problem, Kyle. And you can deny it all you want, but–”_ **

Kyle can only whimper when his slight jaw is taken into thick fingers, made to stare right into those dark blue eyes that fill him with a carnal terror he’s hardly felt before.

**_“I’ll make sure to get your pretty face.”_ ** He grins. **_“And how are you going to deny_ ** **that?”**

_“Sta-an,”_ Kyle sobs, voice hoarse and hardly even comprehensible.

He whines in his throat, hands balling in the covers, in his mouth as he feels an overwhelming wave of pleasure hit him, running up his curled toes and through his legs, right from the base of his cock to the very tip of it where a fresh pearl of cum leaks.

It feels like heaven and hell combined, interlaced into one confusing, terrible mess that makes him hardly able to breathe, to think past the immediate pleasure.

But as he hears Stan’s smile crinkle in his brain, he can just _barely_ ground himself.

And with knuckles white with how hard he’s been pressing them down, against the bed, against his teeth, he’s finally able to breathe sighs of pure relief.

Then Stan abruptly moves, straightening up and swinging a leg over Kyle’s panting chest.

_“Wh-wha–”_

“Oh, don’t worry, Kyle,” Stan grins easily, seeming innocent enough as he takes a seat on Kyle’s shoulders, making the other curious enough to try to lean up.

But then Kyle looks down, and–

**_“It’s just your reward.”_ **

Stan’s fingers move and only half a second after Kyle’s figured out what’s going on, his eyes pin-point down at exactly the time Stan unzips his fly, pulls his cock out of the slit in his briefs.

It’s so big it falls down with gravity despite its almost painful hardness, grazing right on Kyle’s parted lips so he _immediately_ gets the taste of cum in his mouth.

He tries to back his head away, at least lay it back on the covers, but finds firm hands on the back of his neck, pushing into his skull and forcing him up.

“Do you really want to suck my dick, Kyle? Seriously?”

Stan’s breaking character, Kyle blinks himself out of a daze to realize. He nods, fervent.

“Y-yes. Yes, Stan. You can do… whatever you want, just don’t… hurt me or anything,” he laughs a little.

“Ah,” his old pal Stan returns for a moment, kind and caring as he threads the ends of Kyle’s curls through his finger tips, “I would never hurt you, dude—s-sorry for that hand thing.”

Kyle waves him off. “It’s fine.”

“Well, okay, if you say so I guess, but… if you need me to stop, tap my back three times or, y’know, scream bloody murder and that’ll probably do it, too!”

They both giggle for a second, but it quickly descends when Kyle unconsciously goes to lick his lip, tonguetip coming down right upon the cockslit pressed against his mouth.

_Oh, and they_ **_both_ ** _moan at that._

Pure electricity races up Stan’s spine, making him double over and pull fists through Kyle’s hair.

It’s just the slightest tug but it _fucking does_ **_something_ **to the redhead beneath him, forgetting his shame immediately and going to run his tongue soft over the glans shiny with pre cum of his own.

Stan groans above him, cutting into an almost animalistic growl as he comes to his senses, curling his spine further over his friend and moving his hands down to his cheek bones.

_What a shame,_ Kyle thinks, flicking his tongue just the slightest bit over Stan’s head, _he rather liked the hair thing… for some fucking reason…_

But that’s okay, because Stan cups Kyle by the neck then, ends of his fingers digging into his jawline and he begins to pull closer, push his hips forward, all just to meet Kyle’s glossy lips with his throbbing cock.

_“Y-you’ve never sucked a dick before, right?”_ Stan sputters, his head a mere millimetre inside the warmth of Kyle’s mouth.

Kyle shakes his head, carefully saying with dick still outside his teeth, “No. One-hundred percent virgin, or, at least, I used to be…”

**_“Hmm,”_ **Stan hums in satisfaction, running a thumb over Kyle’s cheek as he meets his eyes. Still red with tears, stains still down his flushed cheeks. “Sorry for that…”

“Huh?”

“Making you cry.”

_“Which_ time?” Kyle replies smartly.

Stan chuckles a bit, glaring down into Kyle’s eyes in a challenge. “Just in general, I guess. But I mostly meant just a minute ago.”

“You… were kidding, about the picture thing, right?”

Stan’s pitch hair flops to the other side, a grin oddly light in the dim room. “If you really wanted me to be, I guess I was… _But wouldn’t that be_ **_fun?”_ **

**“No!”** Kyle gasps, his lips gracing over Stan’s cock head and making him shiver. “You can’t take a fucking picture of me, Stan! What if someone found out, oh God, what if someone catches us right fucking now in this unoccupied house, fucking, shit! You’re such a fuckin–”

Stan grabs his cheeks, shaking Kyle’s head with his fingers and rushing, “No, no, no, it’s okay, **_baby.”_ **

_“Not fair,”_ Kyle huffs, sounding and looking _just like_ a baby between Stan’s smushing fingers. He almost laughs, but catches himself at the thought of Kyle stabbing him with a knife for that one.

Stan tilts his head, pressing his cock deeper into his mouth, past the rows of his teeth so he can’t speak anymore, Kyle confirming that fact with a glance down and up, unsure.

“It’s alright, Kyle. I won’t do anything you don’t want to!”

He shifts forward, only feeling the heat of Kyle’s mouth, the wetness inside, not allowing his cock to press against the sides of his throat, the pink expanse of his tongue.

_“But, just…_ **_think about it,”_ **Stan purrs, burying himself even deeper, until his head is fully inside.

Probably shouldn’t be saying shit that could surely enrage his hot-headed boyfriend, but Stan is, of course, an idiot.

**_“We don’t have to do your face, baby, we could just do your gorgeous body…”_ **

He grinds his hips closer, shaft midway inside Kyle’s face, looking absolutely ludicrous as he looks down over his chest, past Kyle’s wild curls and over his reddened face to see his cock buried inside of his lips, disappearing slowly further between them.

Like a fucking wet dream.

And when he hilts himself inside, he just about literally dies.

His hips buck on instinct, angling his cock down inside Kyle’s open mouth so his flesh finally comes in contact with that of Kyle’s wet tongue, the back of his throat.

Stan expects the absolute worst, heart thrumming through his head as he just thinks, **oh shit.**

But he looks down to just see Kyle squinting beneath him, barely able to keep his head up but somehow pressing on, familiar salt brimming at his waterline but able to keep it down just with the urge to retch.

_“Are you_ **_sure_ ** _you haven’t sucked a dick before?”_

Kyle’s giggle vibrates his dick, _fuck, bad idea–_

And when Stan drags his cock all the way out Kyle’s warm throat, leaving his cock soaked in spit against his panting lips, Kyle giggles more.

_“Bananas, Stan.”_

“Really?” Absolutely stunned.

“Mhm. When I get bored, I can resort to some very… _odd activities…”_

Stan huffs a chuckle, pressing a hand down on Kyle’s collar bone as he readies himself to go back inside the tight heat of his mouth.

“Well, that’s good!” Stan says as he slides his head back in.

Laughs dark as he keeps going all the way. **_“If you can deep throat, that means I can_ ** **skull fuck you!”**

Kyle would tell him wide-eyed that that’s maybe **a bit** of a jump to make, but he’s too busy nearly gagging on pure, unadulterated **_cock._ **

Stan starts thrusting his cock out and in, in and out of Kyle’s mouth, finding the slight choking, crying sounds to be spurs, if anything.

There was probably something horribly wrong in finding **that** so God damned fucking hot, but Kyle doesn’t seem to mind **_that_ ** _much._ At the very least, he’s able to squint through it all, breathe through his nose and keep himself and his reflexes relaxed.

Gets a little harder when Stan picks up speed, using his fingers on Kyle’s face as leverage as he fucks his hips forward at the same time, his cock pressing all the way in and down the end of Kyle’s mouth to his oesophagus, balls hitting against his chin getting quickly slick with messy spit.

Okay, maybe a little harder than a _little harder._

**_Maybe a lot fucking harder._ **

But Kyle can do it, he’s sure of it.

So he just focuses on the sounds Stan makes, the groans, the bites of his name.

And then Stan becomes coherent enough to start speaking.

Or maybe, _incoherent_ enough.

**_“Shouldn’t I take pictures of you, though, Ky-Kyle? Th-think about it, I could do whatever I wanted to you, fuck you, cum inside you, on you, all over you–”_ **

He huffs with the sheer exertion of fucking fast into Kyle’s mouth, dragging along his twitching tongue.

**_“And then I could just snap a few pics of it, crop out your cute little face, maybe shop your freckles and shit so there’s nothing identifying. And then,_ ** **I could post it for anyone to see,** **_anyone.”_ **

Kyle would shake his head, but he’s too busy trying not to pass out.

_At the_ **_horrible_ ** _words._

**_At the cock ramming his throat._ **

**_“Doesn’t that sound hot as fuck? Bunch of guys jerking off to photos, f-fucking_ ** **videos** **_of you getting filled up with my cock_ ** **over** **_and_ ** **over** **_again?"_ **

His hips stutter, feeling himself draw closer to climax through loud pants, dragging his cock over Kyle's writhing tongue, listening to him whimper around his large girth.

**_"Hundreds, thousands of men so desperate to fuck your tight pussy, but_ ** **they** **_never_ ** **fucking will,** **_because you're_ ** **mine."**

Kyle tries to heave breath around his cock thrusting so hard, so fast, but it just comes out as choked sputters, spit fucked out of his mouth to drool down his jaw, over his neck and onto his sweater.

He feels nothing more than a cock sheath, his mouth being used so ruthlessly by his best friend that his head falls back as his muscles give out.

But even as he lies flat on the bed, whining around his dick driving in and out of his throat, Stan doesn’t relent. He just grabs his head harder, curls of his wild hair wrapping around his fingers so he has no choice but to pull on them, twist them so it hurts with how hard he’s thrusting.

**God.**

**_But why does Kyle actually like that?_ **

_It’s pain, it’s humiliation, it’s absolute degradation._

_He can hardly even think because of how hard he’s going, using his body, how bad everything is starting to hurt._

_It shouldn’t fucking feel–_

**_Good._ **

_And yet,_ **_it does._ **

**_“Oh, God, Kyle–”_ **

Just as Kyle feels reality start to slip from breathlessness, from overheating and overstimulation, Stan’s legs jump uncontrollably, nearly ripping his cock from his throat so Kyle can gasp a breath, taste the pre cum coating his mouth.

He blinks his eyes red with tears, thinking that now it’s over, Stan’s just gonna cum on his face–

And then Stan digs his fingers through his hair, a merciless glint in his dark gaze when he brings his hips right back up, slams forward into his mouth.

_Makes_ **_Kyle moan_ ** _as he’s filled with_ **_cock_ ** _yet again, Stan’s pale hips pressing into his face, his nose, cheeks, all over so he can hardly breathe at all–_

And then he’s cumming, cock twitching in his mouth, feeling the ejaculate spurt against the back of his throat and down so he has to swallow not to drown on it.

Stan’s heaving breath like he’d just ran a marathon over him, finally catching a break from the heady haze of sex in order to think a little higher than his dick.

“Oh, Kyle, fuck–” he sputters immediately, dragging his cock out of his throat and trying to be careful, slow, but if anything that just makes it fucking hurt more, feeling like it shifts his insides and tries to pull them out with it.

But he’s fine, of course. Nothing permanent. Just a scratch in his throat as he coughs up the necessary phlegm into the air, obediently swallows down the remaining cum, wiping the spit all over his mouth and panting.

They meet eyes, glazed green to a clear blue. Kyle’s are still filled with some sort of desperation, a sheen that almost looks like fear, **_carnal terror._ **

And that makes Stan’s instantly jump back to the same old naïve every guy’s, taken over by a light as he shakes his head vehemently and backs away off of him.

_“I’m so, so sorry, dude, f-fuck, I didn’t mean to–”_

“It’s okay.”

Stan just shakes his head even more, in denial about Kyle’s easy grin, because those are tear stains on his cheeks, and they might be dry, but, fuck, he **did** that–

“No it’s not!” Stan whisper-shouts, looking absolutely defeated as he sits on the bed right next to the head of his friend. “I fucking just used you like a fleshlight, and said such horrible, unforgivable shit! I made you cry and hurt you and I can never **forgive myse–”**

“Well, shut up, idiot,” Kyle bites, slapping his doting hands with the back of one of his and snarling, **“I forgive you.** I more than fucking **forgive** _you._ So just shut the fuck up.”

Stan slumps, blinking back down to the corner of the bed sheets that are now thoroughly tousled, wrinkled.

Murmurs just barely above Kyle’s still-panting, “Y-you… you didn’t get to cum–”

Kyle’s smile clicks audibly, making Stan’s gaze snap up to it.

It’s a sly grin, nearly a smirk really, his eyes heavy-lidded but with something less like the heat of lust and more like _satisfaction._

Movement of one of his slender hands brings Stan’s eyes down his body, over the yellow of the sweater all the way to his naked, freckled legs on the covers.

Kyle laughs a little as he runs his thumb over his softening cock, collecting the cum he’d now thoroughly ruined his sweater with off of the skin of his lower abdomen, moving it back over his cock slit.

_“Y-you–”_

Kyle chuckles. “Yeah. Don’t fucking laugh at me, though.”

Stan does anyway. **_“Hahah-h-how?!”_ **

Kyle purses his lips a little, but busies himself by dragging his fingers up his cock growing softer by the second, murmuring, “I don’t know… Just ‘cause of all that stupid fucking shit you were spouting, how hard you were grabbing me and everything. And so when you actually **_c-came_** _down my throat, it just… I couldn’t take it anymore, I guess…”_

Kyle sits up with a slight ache to his spine, his neck, taking his hand up to try to brush off the drying cum but probably just staining it in more with a sigh. “I know I’m fucking pathetic, so don’t worry about rubbing it in, dude…”

_“Oh, Kyle,”_ comes a voice to his side, moving as he stares at the wall but he thinks nothing of it.

_“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”_

The bed shifts but he just shakes his head, too caught up in his own self-deprecating thoughts.

“I thought that was really fucking hot, actually.”

Kyle bolts upright at a sensation he hasn’t even time to categorize yet–

_“Because you’re just_ **_so fucking cute, dude.”_ **

He can’t even snap his eyes open to gawk, for immediately after he realizes that it’s hot breath on his thigh, it’s gone, replaced by a sensation approximately a million times as intense.

A mouth over his soft cock, tongue sliding down his shaft to make him keen, hands going behind him on the bed as he curves his spine backward.

**_“Stan!”_ ** he chokes out, bucking his hips, legs squeezing together on impulse.

Kyle shakes his head while Stan just continues with a little snicker, lips over his slit to clean it of the cum, instead getting him thoroughly wet with spit.

As his thighs spread again, he can’t help but moan.

_“O-oh_ ** _God,”_** Kyle bites between swollen lips.

_Because, fuck, he might have_ **_just cum,_ ** _but he was already getting some_ **_renewed_ ** _interest._

His cock grows under Stan’s attentive tongue, less of a blowjob and more like he’s lapping at a popsicle, but he supposes it works either way.

Stan’s hand wraps around Kyle’s hardening cock, jerking him off as he pops his mouth off to purr over his dick, _“You sure can get yourself all worked up over almost anything, can’t you, Kyle?”_

Kyle digs his heels into the bed, knees pressing into Stan’s hard sides.

_“C-can’t help it, ahhn, y-you’re just_ **_no fair–”_ **

**_“Ah, fuck me!”_ ** Kyle cries abruptly, hands flying just as his entire chest does over Stan’s head which begins to bob down on his leaking cocklet, sending **volts** of pleasure up his spine so incredible it was almost **torture.**

Stan chuckles at the great reaction, splaying his hands on Kyle’s thighs all damp with sweat and dappled in light freckles. Just beautiful.

He starts actually going down on Kyle’s length, inch by inch taking him into his mouth. Thank God Kyle wasn’t quite as blessed as Stan in the manhood department, because otherwise Stan would _surely_ struggle with this.

_Didn’t really think to practice on bananas, unfortunately._

But his slender cock makes it rather quick work to take him nearly to the base, enough to make him moan all broken above him, body trembling uncontrollably under his hands, shaking against his head where Kyle’s tits press against him and start to sob.

Kyle moans so easy above him, wriggling around and tugging on his hair just like Stan did to him, although with no real power behind his, no real control. Just completely at Stan’s mercy as he takes him in and out of his mouth, licking off the pearls of cum from his tip that begin to bead.

_So soon after cumming untouched, too._

_God, Kyle really was a slut, wasn’t he?_

And he takes no time at all to begin to show signs of yet another climax, his cocklet hard and throbbing in Stan’s mouth, against his tongue which swirls around his glans just to try to get him off even embarrassingly faster. Beads of watery seed leak from his slit and onto his tonguetip to be swallowed up, tasting of salt and a hint of sweet before it’s forgotten, just Kyle. All Kyle, every last bit of him.

**_“St-Stan!”_ ** Kyle moans loud above him, head thrown back even as he pulls on Stan’s hair in desperation. He feels that hot pool of orgasm build in his crotch, making his balls seize, his legs jump, hips bucking unconsciously because, _fuck, God, it’s just_ **_so fucking good–_ **

He half-expects Stan to stop bobbing his head on his cock, to halt midway through and look at him with a shit-eating grin. A punishment for actually wanting pleasure, or some dumb shit like that, but for once, just this time, it seems Stan’s having some mercy on him. He just smiles on his cock. Drinking up his cum easily enough, taking every small inch with surprising ease.

And he’s fucking good at it, too. Fucking good at sucking dick, at dragging his tongue along the underside of his cock before flicking up and into his cockhead, tasting the very tip of it before he circles his tongue back down around it to the base. Such a tight, wet, hot heat, nothing like anything Kyle’s ever fucking felt before, so he just can’t help it.

_“C-cumming–”_ Kyle barely squeaks out, muffled into Stan’s hair as he shifts back down and his body tenses in orgasm.

Stan can immediately tell when Kyle cums, the way his fatty thighs twitch under his fingers, hips bucking into his mouth as little as they can as he holds him to the bed. He immediately tastes that salty-sweet ten times in potency, exploding on his tongue just as Kyle does right into his mouth with a low moan.

And Stan swallows it all down, every last drop. Pretty easy, honestly. Not a lot of cum to begin with, only three or four shots at most, but he’ll give Kyle the benefit of the doubt. After all, he came only a few minutes ago.

He’ll definitely make fun of him later for it, but right now, right now Stan just softly licks his way around Kyle’s shaft one last time. Listens to him pant, feels his body shake in aftershocks of orgasm, his skin practically glowing, thighs bursting out of the yellow hem of his little sweater. Breathing hard, trembling even harder, he’s just adorable.

Stan leaves his cock with one last lick of cum off the tip, wiping his mouth and giving that a taste too as he sits up on his calves.

Leaving Kyle to lean back and recuperate, just coming down from that wonderful high of, well, cumming.

_God, that was fucking wonderful. Almost as good as getting fucked in the ass, honestly._

Then Kyle looks down to his prick softening yet again, mouth twitching to as light frown as he realizes that, yep, he just fucking came in no time flat again. Fuck, what a pathetic excuse for a man he really was–

And then, Kyle’s encased in sudden heat, strong arms around him like a vice but feeling more needed, comforting than anything else.

_All spent and done, he feels oddly open…_ **_vulnerable._ **

So it’s nice to have something strong and sturdy holding him up, not letting him go a single inch as he purrs into his red hair:

_“It’s okay. That was_ **_really_ ** _hot, Kyle. You did a really good job there, promise.”_

As Stan smiles, he gives a kiss to Kyle’s cheek, huffing warm breath on his jawline.

**_“And that was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,”_ **Stan chuckles.

Kyle grins a little, but the next words make it instantly fall open.

_“Then again, it was the_ **_only_ ** _blowjob ever, so I’m not much of a judge!”_

Kyle snaps his head to him, brows tight and utterly perplexed.

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob?”

“Nope!”

_“Wendy,”_ Kyle spits, not sure if it’s a question, a statement, insult, _what the fuck._

Stan laughs, _“Hah,”_ hard frown, **“no.”**

_“How?”_

“What? You really think everyone loves sucking dick, Kyle? **_Definitely_ ** _not._ A lot of people think it’s boring, or gross, or something like that–”

“But you said you ate her out multiple times–”

“Yeah! That’s the bull part! That I would only ever give and she would only ever fucking take!”

Kyle puffs. “That’s fucking shitty.”

“I know!” Stan groans, falling all the way back on the bed until he hits it with a huff, shirt wrinkled over his stomach when Kyle looks back to him with concern.

Stan offers a polite enough smile to his friend in the candlelight. “It’s alright. You’re a million times the girl she ever could be.”

Kyle rolls his eyes, but his grin belies him, even as he tries to hide it. “Oh, stop it with the fucking girl thing when I’m not horny anymore. That’s fucking stupid.”

“Is it?”

Kyle frowns. “What, what do you mean?”

“Is it really just purely a sexual thing, no trace of actual truth beside that in it? Like, there’s nothing else you like about thinking of yourself as a girl, or more like, my girl?”

He shrugs after a second. “I-I don’t know. That’s… silly. I’m a guy, I’m sure of that–”

“Yeah, no, I’m not asking, like, if you actually think you’re a girl or anything. Just. _Does the idea not hold any sort of_ **_sentimental_ ** _value to you?”_

Kyle leans back on an arm, peering over his shoulder to his friend on the bed. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe. But it’s stereotypical, isn’t it? Like what, just cause we’re in a homosexual relationship one of us automatically has to be the girl and the other the groom or some shit? Isn’t that kind of the _opposite_ of being gay?”

Stan sighs, closing his eyes as he scoots his head up to the pillow. Some pretty thought-provoking fluff talk, he had to admit. But at least it _was_ tiring. “It’s whatever you make of it, dude. Just don’t overthink it. If you like the idea of feminine things, of sometimes being that way, whether it be because it’s cute, or nice, or sexy, whatever. Just do it. I was just asking cause… I don’t really think it has to be one-hundred percent sexual.”

“You don’t want it to be?”

Stan scoffs, feeling the bed shift as Kyle slides down. Opens his eyes to see green gazing into them, curious, a trace of apprehension. “I don’t **_want_ **anything from you, Kyle. I mean, I do want, I like you a fucking lot,” he chuckles, tapping a finger to Kyle’s nose and watching his freckles immediately glow under a flush. “But, just, you can be whatever you want. At least around me. I won’t judge you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Kyle sighs this time, but as Stan watches, a grin blooms on his lips—still a little swollen from… _you know._

“And you won’t judge me, for the things I do, right?”

There’s a second of silence, Kyle just shifting on his hands and eyelids moving in thought.

Then he giggles.

“Of course not. I mean, I will if you fucking murder someone or some shit, of course. But any weird, dumb shit you do, I don’t care. In fact, I like the weird stuff you do, if I’m being honest,” he ends his thoughts in a yawn, stretching out on the bed.

**_Wendy’s bed._ **

_Aw, but that just makes him even more tired…_

“That’s good.”

“Mhm.”

…

Laugh.

“Are you going to sleep?”

Long exhale.

_“Trying… to…”_

“Oh, okay.”

The seconds pass to minutes, falling slow like sand in the hourglass of time until they all muddle together, until Kyle isn’t sure how long he spends there on that bed, limbs pushed right against Stan’s. Warm with the other’s body heat. Feeling the ghost of his breath on his own face. Listening to his breath.

To his heart beating.

The bed shifting under him just the slightest bit, light stirring under his closed eyelids as he feels a subtle breeze pick up.

Warm fingers stroking through his hair, starting from skull and working their way through his curls to the ends, playing with them there.

And it just feels _so right._ **_So new._ **

Like this was the first time they were sleeping together, which was _totally_ **not** true, because they’ve done this hundreds of times at sleepovers throughout the years, even did it romantically at Craig’s house a week ago.

But it was the first time they were doing it after sex. With the diminishing effects of afterglow, the blissful peace it leaves strewn over both of them.

Left in a world seemingly just all their own.

Just enjoying each other’s company.

And the revenge of doing it all in Wendy’s old room just made it even more peaceful, somehow.

A quiet sigh ahead of him, as he continues to stroke through his hair even with eyes closed.

“I love you, Kyle.”

His friend laughs under his breath.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

A low, content little sigh.

“Now go the fuck to sleep, idiot.”

Stan chuckles, drifting off with his hands still tangled up in Kyle’s locks, feeling him shift as he falls asleep.

*****

_January 5th, 2020 - Sunday_

**Fuck.**

_Fuck, it is fucking_ **_cold._ **

**Freezing.**

So much so that Kyle just has to jolt upright, startling himself awake and immediately to his wits right out of slumber. His hands slide to rub circulation into his shaking arms only to realize he’s brushing Stan off of him.

A sleepy Stan who murmurs in his sleep, huffing as he slides back to the pillow decidedly alone.

“Whyyyyy,” Stan groans, a hand rubbing his eyes groggily. “I don’t even _work_ anymore–”

And then he realizes it, goosebumps visible on his arms.

_“Fuck it’s–”_

“Cold. Yeah, I fucking know,” Kyle seethes through chattering teeth. “Maybe hanging out at a foreclosed house in the middle of winter without any power wasn’t exactly a good idea…”

He trails off to grumbles as he tosses the forgotten wrinkled nightgown away from under his back, checking his watch on reflex.

And then his eyes go wide.

No, that certainly couldn’t be right.

“What?” Stan asks, finally rising up.

No, there was no way it was right.

_That_ **_had_ ** _to be AM._

**“It’s 1 PM?!”** They both shout in unison.

Kyle’s eyes shoot up to Stan’s bewildered face. “We slept for like 13 hours?!”

Kyle moans, _“But_ **_howwwwww?_ ** _How is that even_ **_physically_ ** _fucking_ **_possible?!”_ **

“I don’t know!” Stan shouts, springing up from the bed and zipping up his jeans he’s apparently had unzipped the entire time he was sleeping. “But we gotta get the fuck out of here before your mom kills us, or Kenny, oh God!”

Kyle slides off the edge, sighing low. “Fuck. Yeah, that’s right. She’s **_definitely_ ** gonna kill _me.”_

After a minute of plodding around and creaking floorboards, they arrive down the stairs to the entryway where their stuff remains. They grab it with haste, still tugging on their clothes to make it just a little less dishevelled, trying desperately to fix their hair while they slide on their coats.

Kyle pushes on the unlocked door, looking behind himself to chide Stan for not reminding him to set an alarm or something–

Only to slam right into the door, arm hitting it hard against the metal knob and making him cry out in pain.

“Oh, what happened?!” Stan asks, a mixture of confusion and concern as he soothes Kyle anyway.

Said Kyle just slaps his hand off, looking up at the door with brows tightly furrowed.

_Because huh._

_That window._

_Was not a window._

_As in, it was not showing anything useful, like a window_ **_usually_ ** _did._

Because, as he leans up on his shoes to peek at it, it’s completely fucking opaque, white, glossy and crystal-like.

**_Frosted over._ **

And as he goes up on his toes even more, he can peer down the corner to see that there’s a ton of white all over, just barely ghosting through the layer of ice on the glass so he can make it out from the blue of the sky. Coming up to maybe halfway up the door.

He jiggles the handle, tries to push on it with his entire body.

Only to meet an unstoppable force, not budging a single inch despite all his weight being put on it then.

“Snowed in?” Stan murmurs from behind him.

Kyle nods, slow. Methodical. About to snap Stan’s neck behind him. Not because he did anything wrong, necessarily, but just because he was there.

And then Stan laughs.

_Oh, yeah,_ **_no,_ ** _Kyle was_ **_definitely going to kill him now._ ** _And even with a reason this time–_

**“It’s okay!”** Stan yells as Kyle turns on his heel, fists to his hips. **“We’re saved, actually!”**

_“What?”_

“Yeah, think about it, Kyle! We’re snowed in, the whole fucking town is, including Kenny’s house, in fact–”

Stan pulls from his pocket his phone, taps on it a few times, waiting a few seconds while Kyle slowly pieces it together.

“Yeah, no signal, dude! So, even if they did try to call us a million times, there’s no way they’re getting through a fucking blizzard!”

Kyle tilts his head, fingers unwinding slowly until they lay limply at his sides.

“Hm.”

“Will probably take at least a day to clear, I think,” Stan says.

Kyle glances up in thought, then settles back on Stan.

“What do you want to do here then?”

Stan chuckles nervously, eyes darting about. “I-I don’t know! H-hey, you know how we had _sex_ last night?”

Kyle grimaces, but it doesn’t seem all that genuine, for once. “Yeah… What about it?”

“Weren’t you the one that said a relationship shouldn’t be all about sex?”

_The frown is_ **_definitely_ ** _real now._

“So, since it’s apparently opposite day, do you wanna do something that isn’t sex, at least for a little while?”

Kyle leans back on the door, blinking in thought. Face utterly untelling in its neutral position.

And then he smiles, kicking off the door to come to a stand, walking right past Stan who eyes him curiously.

Stan starts to follow him—a puppy, truly—but then Kyle snaps his finger, fitting. And Stan stays at the bottom of the stairwell, watching his friend round the entryway and walk all the way through the living room until he’s out of sight.

And, well, after just a few seconds, Stan’s bored out of his fucking mind.

Eyes glazing over looking at just how white and bleak the walls were, utterly undecorated, of course. Ready for the next tenant. Oh God… How long was he gonna just have to wait here in silence?

And then music starts.

**_“I really can’t stay.”_ **

**_“Baby, it’s cold outside.”_ **

He hears pattering beginning, legs bringing him without even thinking right to the sound and out the doorway to the living space.

**_“I’ve got to go away.”_ **

**_“Baby, it’s cold outside.”_ **

And as he rounds a modern white lamp, he spies Kyle leaning back on a flat white table. Smile on his freckled face way too wide for the serious thing he’s trying to do, because God, this was fucking stupid.

But Stan will definitely go along with it then, of course.

He watches Kyle mouth, **_“This evening has been–”_ **

**_“–Been hoping that you’d drop in.”_ **

Stan ruins the lip sync by laughing as well, because, yeah, this was retarded. But whatever. He can get over it and take a few exaggerated strides to his waiting _girl,_ pause at the rectangular sofa to watch him push off the table with a sigh.

**_“So_ ** **very** **_nice–”_ **

And just as they pass, he hits it right on time: **_“I’ll hold your hands–”_ **

Faux-gasps, squeezing them still. **_“They’re just like ice!”_ **

Kyle rolls his eyes, **_“My_ ** **mother** **_will start to worry–”_ **

**_“Beautiful, what’s your hurry?”_ **

Kyle takes his hands, bringing him further out into the open space. **_“My father will be pacing the floor–”_ **

Stan waves behind him. **_“Listen to the fireplace roar!”_ **

_It’s not even on._

**_“So really, I’d better scurry–”_ **

**_“Beautiful, please don’t hurry!”_ **

Kyle slides a hand away to reach into his bag, **_“Well, maybe just half a drink more–”_ **

**_“Put some records on while I pour!”_ **

Kyle pauses the song, placing his phone on a glass stand along with his duffel bag.

“Just kidding, no alcohol because I _still_ don’t trust you,” he snickers.

“Buuut,” Kyle murmurs, digging in his bag while Stan waits expectantly behind him, pushing on his little fingers to thread them between his, “I do have something just as warming on the inside!”

Stan’s face positively lights up when he sees plastic wrap.

Not because of the plastic, of course, that doesn’t taste very good at all. But because of what’s on the inside!

A little golden circle of dough, dappled in sprinkles of white, a little dollop of blood-red on the top making it perfectly clear what it is.

“Sufganiyot!”

Kyle snickers. “And there’s more where that came from!”

Stan practically dies when he watches him pull out five more magically from his bag of deceiving size. And he hasn’t even eaten the fucking things yet!

“My mom was right, of course,” Kyle says, setting them all out before them. “A little wonderful food does make any get-together much better.”

“Oh, sure,” Stan’s literally drooling over him. “And we’ll definitely ‘get together’ again, but now–”

He snatches a doughnut from the table, peeling the Saran away in record time. “Jelly doughnuts.”

Kyle just giggles, watching him take a huge bite, mirroring it with a small one of his own.

Yes, getting snowed in is always the greatest thing, even when you don’t have anything to attend to…

_And surely this has, and will be, the greatest snow-in of his life._

*****

_“Hah, fuck, Stan,”_ Kyle mewls, _“I don’t think I can cum anymore–”_

_“Just one more time,”_ Stan mutters above him.

Hands digging into his hipbones, shoving him higher onto the dinning room table. They would’ve done the couch if just for the windows—frosted over as they may be, the thrill was higher—but had long since agreed on only fucking on easily cleanable, non-porous surfaces.

Fingers pressing into the fabric over his otherwise naked skin, moving the thin material so it drags along his nipple beneath it, making him keen.

_“Ah, God,”_ Stan groans as he fucks into Kyle’s tight _cunt, “that nightgown is just too cute on you, Kyle…”_

Kyle has just enough sense to open his eyes bleary with tears from orgasming twice already just this hour, _“Is it?”_

_“Uh-huh,”_ Stan snaps instantly, meeting into Kyle’s thighs with desperate thrusts, running on empty as well, but the way the little pink slip pools around his ass on the white of the wood beneath him sparks just enough lust in him to continue. _“You’re really cute in it, Kyle. S-so little and skinny, it just makes you look even smaller, even cuter, somehow.”_

_“Mmm, ahh,”_ Kyle moans, toes curling where they’re hooked around Stan’s waist, prostate stimulated just enough that it shoots pleasure right up his spine. “I-I can wear more stuff like this, if you like it so much, hah–”

_“If only we had a house all to ourselves, huh?”_ Stan breathes, hot against his flushed face, warding off the cool of the dark, powerless house all around them. _“I-if only I could just_ **_fuck your pussy_ ** _without worrying of anyone barging in, of dropping by unexpected and making fun of the_ **_dresses_ ** _I could have you wear.”_

_“Oh, my God,”_ Kyle whispers, lying back on the table and canting his hips, spreading them further so he’s fucked even deeper into the wood. Just all Stan’s for him to take, to fuck, to fill with his hot cock, his seed already deep in his cunt. _“A_ dress, _oh…”_

**_“Wouldn’t you like that, huh? Dresses and nightgowns just like this one, skirts and lingerie just like that slutty little Santa outfit you wore for everyone to gawk at?”_ **

_“S-sorry–”_

Stan laughs right against his lips glossy with spit. _“Okay, fine, I’ll take that for now…_ **_but only if you let me fuck you in it later.”_ **

**_“Ah, Stan!”_** Kyle cries, _“I’m gonna cum,_ ** _fuck!”_** he writhes on his cock just to prove his point, his own little prick twitching and tenting up the nightgown, beading precum into the silk of it, making a mess.

Stan doubles over top of him, pinning him down at his arms as he fucks into him even deeper, faster. He pants, feeling himself reaching his end as well, that hot fire in his belly growing rapidly to a crescendo, until, fuck, he just can’t fucking take it anymore, just how tight Kyle’s ass his, his pussy, his everything.

_How cute his little moans are, his cries of ecstasy as his head lolls back and he exposes his neck._

Just can’t fucking help himself as he bites down right on the naked flesh of his throat, right at the juncture between collarbone and jugular. Sucking him hard into his mouth, pressure that’s probably equal to that of his seed which he seeds inside of Kyle’s ass one final time.

He knows Kyle’s cumming by the slight pulsing around his cock as he ejaculates, the small feeling of wet hitting the muscles of his own bare stomach where he’s surely spurting his own semen. Can just barely feel it, that’s how small of a load he must have now, just a quick one-two of barely perceptible force, and then it’s all over.

But most of all, he can tell Kyle’s orgasming by the wild thrashing under his arms, fruitlessly trying to rip himself of his grip. The way his red face contorts into pure elation, mouth agape to let out a shout of _Stan’s_ name. He’s never heard it said so beautiful but by his _own best friend._

And once their done cumming, the red-hot fury replaced by mellowing yellows and oranges, they simply pant. Cooling off, down, catching their breaths and feeling the sweat on their glowing bodies. Stan’s cock twitching inside of him, Kyle’s against his stomach before they begin to soften out.

And then Kyle snickers.

_“You really wanna fuck me in the Santa outfit, dude?”_

_“Oh, you fucking bet your_ **_whore_ ** _ass I do, Kyle!_ I’ve been fucking dreaming of that shit for weeks now!”

Kyle opens his lidded eyes, smirking an inch away from him. _“Well, that’s good, because I’ve probably cum in those white panties more times than I can fucking count, at this point.”_

Stan groans above him. “Don’t **fucking say that,** **man,** I can only _cum_ so many times in a day!”

Kyle’s about to say something smart but is interrupted by Stan withdrawing his dick from his asshole, always a pretty fucking uncomfortable feeling that makes him wince. The loss is notable too, especially after getting fucked open so many times.

He can only imagine how wide open his hole must look.

But as he looks up, Stan’s amused eyes make it pretty obvious.

Stan shakes his head, tutting at him as he stretches up. “You look like a slut who would pay _me_ to get fucked at this point, dude.”

**_“Okay, well,”_ ** Kyle snaps, slowly pulling him and his sore ass up, _fucking ow,_ “nevermind about the whole fucking me in the Santa thing, then. Or any girly thing, really.”

“I’m sorry!” Stan immediately yells, making Kyle descend into a litany of giggles.

“You’ve gotta do that whole Dominant thing more, though, _Stanley.”_

He tilts his head at that. “What do you mean?”

_“You know, when you do that_ ** _deep, low, grumbly voice,”_** Kyle’s higher voice is unable to mimic it all that well, _“and dirty talk me into the_ ** _dirt. Wanna take a picture of me and post it online?”_**

**“Oh!** No, no,” he tuts, looking to his own feet which shift like they’re on fucking nails, “that’s embarrassing, dude. I have no fucking clue why I do that, I-I really should work on keeping myself from doing that without thinki–”

“No, it’s okay! Really!” Kyle soothes, sitting up fully on the table, the mix of lube and cum under his ass only very uncomfortable. “I like it, seriously!”

Stan sighs. “Sure you do, whatever, man.”

They both find their teeth to immediately start chattering in the next second’s silence.

“Welp!” Stan says quick, suddenly very happy to not be talking about BDSM shit, “I’m freezing now, wanna go cuddle and watch movies I have downloaded on my phone?”

Kyle puffs as he slides off the table onto wobbly legs. “As though I have any fucking choice, stuck here in a house without any fucking power… not that our houses would have any, either.”

“Well,” Stan purrs, wrapping an arm around his waist covered in thin silk, “think about the upsides, Kyle. No annoying sibling, no doting mother, no belligerent father. Just the two of us all alone to ourselves in this house which is _definitely_ not ours, for who knows, a night? A few days? Whatever!”

He lets his hand slide a little lower on his side. _“Plenty of things we could do in the meanwhile…”_

Kyle scoffs, but falls on the couch all the same to glare up at Stan.

_“My mom is_ **_definitely_ ** _going to notice my fucking limp, though.”_

**“Well, she’ll find out one way or another, won’t she?!”**

_Stan gets a well-deserved kick to the abdomen for that one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay, I am both excited _and_ fearful to say that this story is now caught up to what I am currently writing! Only three more chapters left to go, though, and I can write smut pretty fast, so hopefully there shouldn’t be too much worry~


	8. Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Great. So make it quick, before someone _**does**_ actually figure out and _**fucking kills you.”**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Sorry this is kinda short… at least compared to the previous chapters lmao!

_January 6th, 2020 - Monday_

**“Good morning, Kyle and Stan!”**

Kyle has about two seconds to rouse from his slumber before he has to toss the blanket up and over, eyes about as wide as the moon as Kenny rounds the corner with a loud slam.

_Only then does Stan wake up, of course._

_“Hello!”_ Kenny shouts with a grin much too happy, listening to the sounds of The Office play out from Stan’s phone miraculously still alive, even if by the perfectly logical explanation of the portable charger plugged into it.

 _“How was last night? And the day after that? And the night after that?”_ he smirks, sauntering past the corner and forcing Kyle to raise the covers only further, just beneath his mouth.

“Nice. Thanks for asking,” Kyle mutters.

“Hmmmm,” Kenny hums with a finger to his lips, pensively.

Then his eyes slit as Stan starts to stretch.

_“Are you two still ‘connected’, if you will?”_

And that makes Kyle jump a foot away from Stan, because, fuck, that is fucking horrible!

_… He would also totally like to try that one day, but they didn’t think to do that last night after another round of lazy sex…_

**“No!”** Kyle screams.

 **“Yes!”** Kenny shouts.

Kyle looks confusedly between Kenny’s purely ecstatic face to Stan’s which is just… gawking at _him, at Kyle,_ that is.

Kyle then flutters his gaze down, because, _what? Does he have something on his face, may–_

 **No, it’s a** **_million_ ** **fucking times worse.**

 **_“Where did you buy_ ** **that** **_during a snowstorm?!”_ **Kenny laughs himself half to death, backpedalling all the way into a wall and shaking all the stock photos pinned up to it.

Kyle huffs, ripping the cover out of Stan’s hand and back over his body still wearing that stupid fucking nightgown.

 _Fucking Stan, not letting him fucking change even though he was cold… Got comfortably warm when he started rutting against him, but still!_ **_Fucking bastard!_ **

“Oh, shut up, Kenny,” Kyle seethes. “I’ll fucking kill you ten times if I need to.”

Kenny’s laughter stops suddenly, peeling away from the wall to stand stock straight. “What does that mean?” he asks all-too-seriously.

His friend on the couch just shrugs, clearly disinterested. “What the fuck do _you_ mean? Just that I’ll fucking kill you however much I need to if you keep insisting on making fun of me for getting some.” He slits his eyes, huffing a humourless laugh. _“Unlike you are, that is. Apparent-fucking-ly.”_

That makes Kenny sigh, skipping back round the post of the wall as he looks back. “The virgin thing again? _God, if I hear that shit one more fucking time, from Butters or_ **_anyone…”_ **

He slaps the corner, exclaiming into the empty space of the entrance room, **“Anyway!** Get your naked asses into gear and outta trespassing this house or else I’ll tell both your moms what you’ve really been up to!”

The two lovebirds groan.

“What?” Kenny snaps back with a sneer. “It’s already 6 AM! Not a minute to waste before **_your_ ** suburban families rise, _I’m sure!”_

*****

“Well, hello, again, Broflovski! What? my _devilish good charms_ just couldn’t be denied a second time ar- **ow!”**

“Shut the fuck up, Kenny,” Kyle snarls, about slamming the door right into him as he pushes past to get into a house not below zero.

“My fucking mom keeps giving me weird looks,” Kyle sighs as he rips off his downy coat, jumper under that, hoodie under that, and, yeah, Kyle’s mom was certainly at work here.

“Is that right?” Kenny tilts his head. “What, was it the mile-long limp you had, the stench of stale sweat and sex, the fact your hair was even fucking messier than usual somehow, or does she actually have x-ray vision and saw the multiple hickeys under your turtleneck?”

Kyle turns to glare right into Kenny’s soul after he’s finally done spouting all that _hilarious_ shit.

If only he had claws, they would surely extend straight from his fingertips, glinting under the hall light as they’re raised straight towards Kenny’s neck–

_“H-h-hey!”_

They both turn to look at the cute voice.

And with a heavy breath of pure exasperation, Kyle knows he just _can’t_ kill a conman with a proverbial _child_ watching.

So deflates back onto his heels, offering a warm enough smile that will convince Butters if no one else in the world.

“Hi, Leo!”

“Oh!” Butters exclaims. “Y-yes, I love it when people c-call me that! O-or, anything that isn’t _B-Butters,_ really…”

“But I thought you liked that..?” Kenny pouts, walking on down the hall to meet Butters at the middle.

_“O-oh, I thought about it, a-and, I don’t know… It’s kinda just an i-insult, i-isn’t it?…”_

Butters prattles on, leading the way along with the other blonde so Kyle has to grit and bear it. _Just walk behind them, pretend to be deaf to their stupid conversation–_

“You’re lucky to be here, Kyle!”

_Oh, God, why._

“Is that right?” he figures his tone is just passive-aggressive enough to possibly be perceived as pleasant.

“Y-yep!”

Kenny chuckles, flicking a door knob open. “His parents are out buying barbed wire or something, so that oughta take a while.” He turns behind himself to whisper to the redhead, _“I’m_ ** _technically_** _not supposed to be here, but figuring by the gun in Steven’s room, I’m_ ** _really_** _technically_ _not supposed to be here!”_

“H-huh?”

“Nothing!” Kenny straightens back up. “Anyway, come right in, Kyle,” Kenny waves his hand forward into the open door of Butters’ room. “I’m sure you’ve seen it before, but it has been a couple years…”

Kyle glances over to Kenny for a second, and then Butters, but when no one seems to be moving just does so himself with a sigh. Fucking weirdos. But they were _his_ friends, so what did that say about _him?_

“Oh,” Kyle gasps, looking around the walls. “It’s–”

“Fantastic, right?” Kenny immediately interrupts.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Kyle huffs a fake laugh. “Yes, it’s great. Really homely!”

It is absolutely anything but, of course.

Now, Kyle had thought he’d seen sterile and impersonal when he’d gone to the literal foreclosed for-sale fucking hosue of the Testaburger’s just yesterday, still white fresh in his mind.

But this? This had to take the fucking cake.

It looks like something straight out of a catalogue: just a perfectly done bed, a desk with absolutely nothing on it, a dresser presumably with some clothes in there, although by the fact that Butters wears the same shit every other day, probably not that much…

Not a hair out of place, not much there to begin with, the only signs of actual life in the form of the bag tucked into the corner atop a nightstand, a laptop carrier balanced perfectly on a hook in the wall.

No pictures, no colour, no nothing. Just fucking sad.

Poor guy, were his parents _really_ that bad? Kyle remembered them being maybe a ltitle better, you’d think they’d loosen up instead of doubling down as their son got on through the years, but holy fucking shit.

“Th-thanks, K-Kyle!” Butters breathes, slowly but surely making it over to the bed where he goes to sit almost robotically, seeming terrified even to wrinkle the cover.

Kyle doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or to laugh on the inside, but either way, keeps up his best grin just for appearances.

“Alright!” Kenny claps his hands together, Butters of course jumping from just how strung-up he is right now. “What do you want from me, Kyle?”

“Huh? No, no, I just wanted to come over and see you guys,” Kyle laughs, kicking his foot behind himself. “Is that too much to ask? _Just some time away from Stan, and, and Cartman, and, all those_ ** _other_** **_guys…”_**

Kenny nods throughout the whole tirade. Exhales when Kyle’s done, leaning down to Butters on the bed and holding a hand up so Kyle can’t read his lips while he whispers something silently to him.

“A-alright!” And Butters is out of the room faster than Kyle can even blink, hand slamming the door shut.

At least, he would, if it were not ingrained in him already not do **ever** do that. So, instead, the last millimetre is occupied by a strained silence while he tentatively twists the knob, sliding the lock in place as quiet as a mouse.

Ah, and then the two are alone, finally.

Kyle scowls immediately. “Seriously, Kenny?” he hisses. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” Kenny rolls his eyes, slumping on the bed and patting for Kyle to sit next. “Don’t worry about it dude, nothing that would ever hurt him!”

Kyle shrugs, walks the short trip and takes a seat. Because, surely, Kenny would never harm their poor, innocent Butters.

“So, what did you want to talk about? It’s Stan, right? Sex? What, did he do something you didn’t like? Call you something mean or something? ‘Cause trust me, I might not have experienced it myself, but I know you can just get in a _mood_ and say some kinda crazy shit, so–”

“I want him to do that more, actually.”

_“Oh.”_

And then they sit there in an awkward silence for what feels like entire minutes, just pursing their lips, toeing at their shoes, and trying their best impression of being completely blind to the fellow sat literally right next to them.

But that can only be kept up for so long.

After a hard swallow, _“I’m serious,”_ Kyle sputters.

“You’re. Serious.” Not sure whether it’s a question or a statement.

It’s a forced “Yes.” anyway.

“What… _exactly_ do you mean?” Kenny asks, gazing at the flat ceiling almost worryingly, for once not the ever-cocky son of a bitch he always is.

“I mean… _I mean…_ _God, why is this so fucking hard?”_

“Well,” Kenny manages a chuckle, “you are literally trying to tell me probably the deepest secrets of your most intimate moments, so I get it.” He pats Kyle on the back just _a little_ too hard. “Just spit it out, buddy. I won’t judge you. I probably have the filthiest mind on the planet, bar one!”

“Okay,” Kyle sighs, hands sliding down on his pants. “I just mean, I think I’m a masochist.”

 _“You. You’re a. A Maso–”_ Kenny’s having an aneurysm.

“Okay!” Kenny chirps after processing, fingers digging through the air more to calm _himself_ than anyone else. “So, that’s good! And, you say you want, _more of that?”_

Kyle shrugs, although Kenny’s sudden flustering is pretty fucking funny. “Sure, I dunno. I mean, he didn’t really hurt me on purpose. More like an accident.”

“That’s awful!”

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m okay, really! He was nice about it and everything, nothing permanent or really bad… Just like, he likes to get this certain kinda… domineering way. And sometimes he can get pretty handsy, too. But I like it!”

“Alright,” Kenny says, only a little fearful. “So what’s the problem, then? Sounds like you’re on cloud nine.”

“Oh, I wish! See, he, in the moment, he has no issue, right? But then after it's all said and done, he likes to get all pensive and regretful and shit. _And it drives me fucking nuts!_ Like, I say it’s fucking fine, I say I like it, but he just acts all scared and shit!”

Kenny leans back. “Uh, well. I uh, can’t say I’ve ever dealt with that problem before, but… I…”

And then they both jump pretty much out of their fucking skin when the door suddenly bangs open, Butters parading right in like there’s absolutely nothing amiss with undoubtedly scarring his wall more than it was already.

“K-Kyle’s a m-masochist?” he announces almost with glee.

_“Yes!” “No!”_

Kenny and Kyle, respectively, stare at each other for a half second before glancing back.

“Hehe-eh, th-that’s fine! W-we’ve all got deep, d-dark secrets inside us that make us t-tick, don’t w-we?”

_Hm…_

“Anyway,” he breathes, skipping over to the bed to practically lay upon it. Apparently much more relaxed than before. “T-that reminds me of one of my f-favourite songs!”

“Is that right?” Kenny manages an apprehensive smirk.

“O-oh yeah! I-I know it by heart, I like it so much!”

Butters leans to one side on the corner of the bed, clearing his throat before springing back up, snapping his fingers before himself as he counts the beat with his hand on his knee, his foot on the wooden floor.

**_“Don’t, you, go, leaving…”_ **

He sings unburdened by his normal stutter or other verbal cues, closing his eyes and in a world entirely of his own as he sings the slow notes out.

**_“Baby, I’ll find you…”_ **

He’s a pretty good singer, but the lyrics are mildly disturbing–

**_“Tell all your secrets…”_ **

Kyle straightens back slightly. Mm, yeah, no. He didn’t like this song at all, no matter what the instrumentals might have been.

**_“No one will want you…”_ **

That about does it, Kyle about to poke Butters’ shoulder to very politely, but very **firmly,** tell him to stop. But then Kenny grabs him by the arm. Mouths something which Kyle thinks is pretty close to _“Shut the fuck up”,_ but Kyle’s never been all that good at reading lips anyway.

**_“It’s for your own good… I know what’s best for you…”_ **

Butters’ lips twitch into a carefree smile.

**_“If you won’t sleep with me…”_ **

_Okay._

**_“There’ll be no rest for you!”_ **

He drums out on his thighs and starts pretty much shouting, **_“ ‘Cause you’re my property–”_ **

“Butters!” Kenny snaps him out of it, making him squeak a gasp as he comes back down to earth.

“Dude!” Kenny tuts. “You _know_ it’s another couple verses and then the chorus!”

“I-I know!” Butters laughs. “Y-yeah, I just wanted to g-get that out, b-but whatever!”

They both turn to Kyle, who just sits there awkwardly. Feeling really third-wheel all the sudden right about now.

“J-just tell him how you feel!” Butters exclaims.

“What?”

“Tell S-Stan how you feel! Wh-what you want! Be specific! H-he won’t bite, I’m sure!” a little chuckle. _“U-unless you ask for that maybe!”_

“Oh my God!” Kenny laughs. “Where did you learn to talk that dirty, man?”

 _Yeah,_ Kyle thinks with a grimace. Just _where_ in the **_world_ ** would a shut-in learn to _talk_ **_that_ ** _fucking dirty?_ Hm, it will forever remain a fucking mystery.

But, dammit, Kyle sighs as they prattle on before him as though he’s not even there once again. Butters was fucking right. It was really that easy, there was no other way.

Considering his past grievances about apparent manipulation, Kyle knew the only way to go about this whole thing was to be completely open and honest. Communication and trust were key in a relationship, having everything right there on the table, out in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

And, as well, Kyle had to be perfectly ready and ready to be happy if Stan said no to his little inquiry. He’s sure it wouldn’t be a make or break thing if he brought it up, so nor would it be an ultimatum to end the relationship if Stan denied him because he was uncomfortable with it. It was only fair.

But also… Kyle really wants to just get roughed up a little… And maybe he’s kinda crazy for what he thinks sitting on Butters’ tiny sterile bed in his poor room, making him bite his lip and retract his legs to his chest and forget the world around him entirely, but…

Damn if he’s not gonna try anyway.

*****

_January 8th, 2020 - Wednesday_

_“Kyle!”_

Kyle jolts fully awake, light blinding him in his semi-sleep.

“Sorry!”

 _Ah, yes, Stan’s voice, definitely,_ Kyle realizes as he sits up. Rubbing his poor, abused eyeballs.

Kyle sighs, holding the blankets firmly with his arms all throughout his pain. “Did you forget anything?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Stan whispers. “I tried to be as silent as possible, but I kinda kicked the trash can a little, but it’s plastic, so hopefully your mom didn’t wake up, but I don’t know, she kinda seems like a super-mutant to me sometimes, so–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle groans, reaching over to tug on Stan’s sleeve blindly, getting it the first try anyway. “You’re just here to fuck me, right?” Nods like a puppy. “Great. So make it quick, before someone **_does_** actually figure out and **_fucking kills you.”_**

Stan slides a knee up on the bed in the pale moonlight as he flicks flashlight off, but doesn’t look so convinced. “I don’t know, man, are you sure about this? Fucking in your bedroom while everyone else is asleep in the _same fucking house–”_

“Yes. No one will wake up, don’t worry. Just, don’t be loud, be quiet as you can and I’ll do the _same,”_ Kyle murmurs, glancing to his door and squinting to ensure that yes, it is indeed locked.

“Now,” Kyle purrs, holding the cover in his hand. “Do you wanna see what’s under the blanket?”

Stan gulps. “Wh-wha, under the blanket? I thought you were just gonna be, like in your pyjamas–”

“Oh, yes, I am, Stan,” Kyle chuckles. “Just a bit of a _different_ kind of pyjamas… Now pull it away for me.”

So, after one nervous glance down, Stan decides fuck it with a short exhale. Reaches forward and snaps the cover up in his fingers, yanks it down to Kyle’s warm lap mere inches from his.

**_And, oh, God._ **

It’s the best fucking pyjamas he could have _ever_ gotten.

“Like it?” Kyle bites his lip, snickering under his breath just over the heat.

 _“Like it?”_ Stan huffs. “I fucking love it, dude.”

He laughs as he scoots forward, gazing down at Kyle the entire time as he falls back onto the same bed which he’d almost fucked him on just a couple weeks ago. God, it felt somehow like just yesterday, and fucking years ago, all at the same time.

But the outfit is from half a week _after_ that, the red shifting familiarly under the light, white fluff of it just as soft as it looks as he’s finally, _finally_ able to touch it.

_The slutty Santa outfit._

_Just as slutty as before, if not twice as much,_ Stan thinks with laughter as he crashes his lips against Kyle’s.

Stan tastes the gloss on his lips just then, exploding with flavour on his tongue which eats it up. Strawberry and honey or some shit like that, absolutely wonderful in his mouth as Kyle’s lips melt between his, moans of immense relief and giggles of giddy sliding against his tongue.

His hand roams down blindly, too enraptured in Kyle’s mouth to open his eyes, so is guided solely by the slight curves of Kyle’s body, over the velvet of the dress and down to the downy hem. Soft as the flesh beneath it as he picks it up, drops it forgotten over his fingers as he splays his hand on the bare flesh of his outer thigh.

Kyle huffs a cross between a chuckle and a moan. _Oh yes, Stan was definitely listening now, moving fucking quick. Kyle almost regrets ordering him around, but oh, he’s gotta be even bossier just yet._

Stan’s other hand draws to the other white trim at Kyle’s breast, sliding along the bare inside of his smooth-shaven arm and over the lines of his chest, digging right into the cup of the dress and playing with the perky flesh of his tit. Taking no time to pinch his nipple, draw a mewl of pleasure from his lips still moving right against his.

 _“A-ah, Stan,”_ Kyle pants under his breath, near-silent but just barely visible with the proximity about as close as two people could be.

He takes his other hand and slides it up his leg, around the thick expanse of his thigh and more toward the inside so he can feel lace fully on Kyle’s leg.

He knows exactly what it is, making him smirk against his mouth.

His fingertips dig into the lacy hem of his panties, feeling every detail, every silken strand and committing it to memory under his touch. It feels absolutely wonderful, smooth and deceptively expensive to his hands mostly unfamiliar to such frilly lingerie. Wendy had never been a fan, of course.

He pokes two fingertips up and into the leg hole, sliding between Kyle’s pale skin and the white panties. A fit much too tight, elastic digging into his skin, but that’s alright. Makes Kyle keen into him, spine curling up and pressing into his chest still arching over him.

Stan can feel the warmth at Kyle’s crotch, the softness of his balls squeezed tight under the fabric obviously not made for such a package. He runs his fingertips over them and gets a breathy whine in return, hands drawing up and into his shirt but he can’t bring himself to care, to even slow down.

Just continues on sliding his knuckle into Kyle’s panties, until he feels the soft hardness of his twitching cocklet, just the shaft of his length which undoubtedly peeks out the top of the panties. Not meant for them at all, would do much better in some actual set of underwear, _but that just makes it even fucking better._

The fact that he so clearly _doesn’t_ fit, _doesn’t_ belong, that it _isn’t_ correct, _it’s wrong, so fucking wrong._

 _Wearing that dress, the panties, the garters, the stockings and heels and_ **_fuck–_ **

Stan just has to buck his hips down into the air, huffing just as much as Kyle does as he slides his hand around his throbbing cock, feeling him leak at the tip, just barely able to fit his palm into his tight panties so he can swipe his fingertip around his glans, drag the seminal fluid from his slit and down his cocklet.

 _“F-fuck!”_ Kyle can’t help but shout-whisper, muffled greatly by Stan’s mouth, thank fucking God.

Stan drags his hand out from his leg, pulling his finger up to take a lick of it. Mixes with the strawberry of Kyle’s lip gloss still just a breath from his own mouth, into a bittersweet concoction that he just has to share as he dives his lips back down.

 _“Mm,”_ Kyle whimpers, _“fuck me, Stan,”_ he begs on the breath back.

Makes Stan’s eyes draw down from his beautiful flushed, panting face to his hips as he twists them underneath his body. Dress wrinkled at his crotch, hem pulled up so it just barely begins to show a peek of the strip of his lacy panties, the upward bulge of his genitals tucked into them.

 _“Please,”_ he breathes out, eyes lidded with such passion in them, darkness framing all around them so it almost seems he’s wearing makeup to Stan’s dopamine-filled brain.

And Stan would love to take all the time in the fucking world to just devour the way he looks right now, every little curve and angle and body part under that dress, but he knows he can’t.

They have a limited amount of time right now, it’s two in the morning but it surely won’t be forever—so he’s gotta just pull his hands out away from Kyle’s body, his tit with one last squeeze to his nipple, and get to opening the bottle of lube.

Bought it himself from a convenience store. Was really fucking embarrassed but the guy at the counter clearly didn’t give a single fuck. _Along with the condom, but Stan doesn’t even fucking know why he bought that when clearly Kyle didn’t care at all for that…_

The cold wetness of the lube brings him back to reality, to Kyle’s quietly laboured breathing under his body pinning him down at the legs.

God, yes, he would love nothing more than to have his best friend like this for an entire day… Just laid out on a bed, ideally much bigger than this one.

Silk, warm sheets on a bed fit only for a king— _or a queen_ —in some cute, girly outfit just as whorish as this one. Splayed out all for him, open like a present, just for the taking.

Stan flicks Kyle’s skirt up in the real world, blessed by the full image of the state of his actual bare crotch then. Surely enough, his cock is sticking out of the silk panties at the very tip, blushing a bright red and beading pearls of cum at the tip and against the flat expanse of his stomach.

_How he would love to have hours to just play with him, to masturbate his cock and edge him only to deny him over and over; suck him off until Kyle began to buck his hips into his mouth and stop immediately because, no, it was always Stan’s game to be in charge of._

_Kyle could have the upper-hand in the battles of wits and friendly rivalry in public, but here in the privacy of the bedroom,_ **_Stan_ ** _was the one on top,_ **_for sure._ **

_Wait,_ **_fuck,_ ** **no.**

Stan shakes his head just as he’s pushing Kyle’s panties aside to expose his pink hole.

“What’s wrong?”

**“N-nothing!”**

_“Shh, keep it down, man!”_ Kyle whispers, glancing around pointlessly before sighing. “What, do you not want to do this anymore?”

“No, I definitely do, Kyle,” Stan chuckles back, hesitating in fingering Kyle open. “Just… I think I want to too much.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know, I just get way too into it sometimes. Like, in my head, and then it comes right the fuck out of my mouth eventually when I’m fucking you. Sorry.”

Stan looks up to watch Kyle roll his eyes at the exact perfect time.

“Look, dude,” Kyle says on the roll back down. “You can dirty talk me all you want. It’s like shit talking but in bed, but, actually, it’s even fucking better than shit talking cause it’s also hot as fuck.”

Stan balks.

“Yeah, that’s right, I think it’s really hot, Stan,” Kyle grins. “Like really, really fucking hot. I’ve already told you this, man!”

Kyle bucks his hips, making Stan suddenly remember his dripping cock in his panties, his hole which certainly twitches on purpose.

_“So, whatever you wanna say, whatever you think… Just fucking say it. Do it. I don’t fucking care.”_

Kyle leans up, lips sliding against Stan’s ear to nip at it slightly as he says whisper-quiet just to elicit a shiver up Stan’s spine:

 _“I fucking_ **_like_ ** _it when you_ **_hurt_ ** _me.”_

And as Kyle falls back, those words are a complete shock to Stan’s system as he’s left to process them right above him.

He knows he should feel horror, terror, because that just wasn’t _right._

For someone to _like_ pain? To _like_ someone to _cause_ them pain?

That was just _fucking wrong._ Obviously. It should be something to fear, to avoid, not to revel in, to **_enjoy._ **

But here was Kyle, laying back on the sheets flat on the pillow, grin to his face. Looking purely satisfied, relieved.

Sure that Stan would come around. And, if he didn’t obviously he would eventually… because, Stan realizes himself right then, he’s always had it in him too.

The want, the desire to, on some level, control Kyle. To have him, to possess him. Not to hurt him, not maliciously, of course. He genuinely _loved_ the guy.

But, in some way, he guesses he’s always liked the utter dominance that he got out of pinning him down, marking him up, squeezing him and crushing him however he wanted in the moment, worrying be damned.

And Kyle just gave him the fucking green light. The absolute good to go, complete and utter consent to do practically _whatever_ he wanted to him.

And, slowly, piece by piece, limb by limb, Stan snaps out of it. Realizes that this isn’t a fucking nightmare, it never has been.

_It’s a fucking dream come true. And he never even thought about it until right the fuck now._

But thank God Kyle always is two steps ahead of him, he grins.

“Oh!” Kyle moans into his hand which he has to bite to keep his sound down, eyes lolling back in his head in pure pleasure as Stan instantly fills him with two of his large, thick fingers.

He cants his hips down, twisting his legs and spreading them to take him in further.

_God, yes, this felt fucking amazing, always fucking did._

_Getting filled so full by his best friend’s warm fingers, spread on his knuckles and forced to accept everything he gave him. He fucking loved it more than hardly anything else in the world, seriously._

Stan adds a third one quick, scissoring his digits and making quick work of Kyle’s boypussy, of course already prepared quite a bit by Kyle’s earlier activity during the night.

Stan remembers it as he bites his lip, listening to his breathy moan in his ear.

Kyle had fucking taken a picture of it, Stan still had it on his phone just to prove it.

_His pink hole glistening wet with water from the shower, lube from afterward, still just the slightest bit open, a grin cast over his shoulder at the mirror he was exposing himself to._

It was _super_ fucking slutty, even for Kyle. But it was the only thing that would convince stubborn Stan to come over in the late of the cold night, through the remaining snow that was beginning to pick up again. Hopefully they didn’t get snowed in in the next half an hour, or else Stan would have to hide under the floorboards in a plea of not getting caught in some twisted act of irony.

Mm, no, but certainly that wouldn’t fucking happen, of course.

Stan was just going to fuck him, seed him full of cum, and then he would be out safe and sound at his own home a block away, both their family’s none the wiser of the little tryst going on. The act of breeding between their good little sons, the two best friends who no one would have ever suspected of anything suspicious, because they’d always been amazingly _close._

 _“Ah, Stan,”_ Kyle whines, _“fuck me now,_ I-I’m ready, _p-please!”_

 _“Are you really?”_ Stan can’t help but tease, swiping his fingers right up and into his prostate gland to get him to jump straight up.

 **_“Yes!”_ ** Kyle sobs into his fingers. He quickly regains his composure, glaring up to him. _“Fuck me, come on. I now you want to just stick your cock inside of my tight pussy, fuck me full until you cum and then leave your sperm inside me, so just get it on with already!”_

Stan tuts, dragging his fingers out anyway. “That’s no way to ask nicely for something you want so bad…”

Kyle sneers, fingers slapping down on his bare thighs and snapping the elastic of his white stockings. “You know you’ll just do it anyway.”

Stan tilts his head, undoing his belt.

**_“How can you be so sure of that?”_ **

_Mmm, yes, that low voice._

It sends a shiver of pure arousal right up Kyle’s spine, making him visibly curl right with it, tits thrust up into the air as he heaves breath and parts his thighs further. _“I don’t know, unless you_ **_show me otherwise,_ ** _I fear I’ll_ **_never_ ** _learn, of course…”_

_And as Stan pulls his cock from out of his jeans, it’s obvious exactly how he’s gonna show Kyle just how serious he is._

He grins, pushing his chest down to Kyle’s, pinning him down with his body until a huff leaves his lungs and out of his spit-shiny lips. His cock drags on Kyle’s body every inch of the way, no doubt leaving a streak of semen on the dress, but he doesn’t give a shit.

He just needs to teach Kyle a lesson. One which the guy will probably manage to enjoy, masochism and all, but a needed one anyway.

So Stan snaps his hands down on Kyle’s hips, forcing him to hold steady while he brings his own pelvis back into the air, canting away from Kyle’s body as the redhead mutters in loss.

But it’s soon returned and then some, as Stan slides right back forward while using Kyle’s own ass as leverage. He aims his crotch down at the perfect angle, lined right up and careful in his speed so he can make it straight into his waiting, hot cunt.

And as Kyle opens all around his cockhead, his slightly gaping pussy making easy room for him, it’s all worth it.

Kyle’s muffled screams of mixed pain and pleasure at the sudden intrusion, as Stan just keeps feeding him inch after inch after inch, it’s all fucking worth it. The way his body twists under his fingers turned white from the pressure, trying to get away from his cock making its home in his body, it’s so adorable Stan can’t help but chuckle darkly.

But Kyle’s discomfort quickly melts away as his ass now quite familiar to this invasion loosens up, grows used to the foreign body in it. He even starts a moan as Stan bottoms out inside him, his thick, huge cock buried from slit to hilt inside of his pussy, twitching in his guts so wonderfully.

_And Stan just can’t have that._

**_He can’t give Kyle exactly what he wants, not after all the shit he’s had to put up with._ **

So his fingers proving ineffective on crushing Kyle’s hips instead skate upwards, over the red cotton of his dress and to his chest. Making a detour to dive into the cups of his breasts, squeeze the fat of his tits just a little too hard, pinch his nipples until he curses, bucks his hips against the cock going still inside him.

Stan starts to withdraw just as he finally reaches his destination, fingers sliding right over Kyle’s neck, his chin, his jawline, watching his green eyes flick over his with something just beginning to become worry.

But it’s too late to completely figure out what’s going on.

Instead, Kyle realizes that right when it happens, pain like a fire that starts from his skull and goes all through his spine, his entire body, before rewiring straight up to his brain once again.

Overwhelming, so much so he can hardly even process it, just flailing his body wildly in confused desperation.

But it doesn’t do much, of course. Stan’s turgid body over top him is just too much, pushing him right against the bed, pressing him into it until his breath becomes even less steady than it was already.

And in the same exact instance, there’s a volt of **_pure ecstasy_ **that runs up him, mingling with the pain to create a special kind of euphoria in his mind. All-consuming, bringing him almost to a higher plane in his own universe, made to just take it all in in that one moment that seems to last an eternity.

Kyle finally gets it only when Stan’s fingers go lax, his cock withdrawing from his clenching cunt.

He pants hard into the warm air between them, looking into Stan’s which are no longer filled with a blurry haze of deep lust. Nor do they suddenly light up with renewed, boyish humanity. Instead, they stay the same, if anything just glinting with amusement as Kyle’s teary eyes meet his once again.

Because Stan gets it now. Gets that it’s okay, that as Kyle smiles up at him, it’s all alright. That, if fucking anything, that was perfectly _acceptable,_ amazing.

The cum on Stan’s abdomen is certainly evidence.

 _“You came just from_ ** _that?”_** Stan chuckles, bucking his hips so some of his shaft returns with his head inside Kyle, drawing from him an overstimulated groan.

 _“Y-yes._ What?” Kyle blinks, still clearly out of it in post-orgasmic glow. “I said I liked it when you hurt me, didn’t I? Hah,” he heaves, having to just grit and bear it as his pleasureless body is forced to experience lust all too soon, Stan’s cock rubbing against his prostate surely on purpose.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Stan simpers before leaning back down.

**_“There’s more where that came from.”_ **

And then he fucks right back into Kyle’s cunt, uncaring for the vice-like grip that enraptures his cock, just ripping his fingers through Kyle’s curls, tugging on them until he feels the thick strands threaten to snap under the sheer force of his grip.

Hears him scream before he remembers to slap his palm over his mouth, then just having to breathe through his fingers in practised sobs. Just steadying himself by the hand still on Stan’s back, feeling his own body rock back and forth uselessly as Stan fills him, empties him, fucks into him and then leaves him again and again and _again._

The unbearable, toe-clenching overstimulation eventually leaves him, his body giving up just as he does and accepting the pleasure that fills in instead of recoiling from it. Probably just as mental as it is physical, as his sputtering curses turn to moans and groans once again.

Prompting Stan to tug on his locks, remind him of who he is, who he belongs to.

 **_“Ah, God,”_ ** Stan mutters right against Kyle’s ear red with hot blood. **_“You’re so fucking tight, and this whole outfit, fuck,”_ ** he pulls on his hair harder, fucks his cock in even deeper until he gets a sob, **_“it’s just so fucking_ ** **awesome,** **_Kyle…”_ **

His boyfriend is just reduced to wordless cries beneath him, pinned to the bed that shakes under the force of his hard fucking, mind about as jelly and limp as his body at this point. He wonders if his cock ever even went soft, or if it just stayed hard despite the ejaculate he’d gotten all over it. Stan really had ruined his virginal body, hadn’t he?

But Stan instantly makes him all forget that, another hard slam right on his prostate, his hard abs running right over his dripping cocklet still stuck in the panties, feeling like ribbing as it slides up and down his exposed glans.

His legs shake just as his head tosses in the throes of pleasure and pain both, but Stan always follows him with his fingers, sure to tug on his hair and bring him sudden sparks of pain, pulling on them steadily to always keep up the discomfort just as his hard thrusting against his hips must.

 **_“God, I just wanna cum all over you, inside you, mark you and everything you own as mine.”_ ** He snarls, gazing down into Kyle’s eyes. **_“Wouldn’t you like that? Just being mine, nothing else, nothing more but my little f-fuckdoll, huh?”_ **

_“Yes!”_ Kyle manages through threaded fingers, _“Ah, God, yes, Stan! Mmmah, f-fuck!”_

 **_“Good,”_ ** Stan barks, but it’s becoming breathy with exertion, his thrusts less coordinated as he begins to near his end. The lace of the silk panties rub into his cock, an added stimulus alongside the entire getup, and, of course, Kyle’s _wet cunt_ that makes him get off faster than he’d like.

But he’s definitely going to make sure Kyle cums one more time before he does.

So he curves all the way down, tongue flicking into his ear as he holds his head still with his solid fingers wound up in his locks.

**_“And I’m fucking serious about that picture thing, you know? That one you sent to me, I was thinking I could just post it somewhere, who the fuck knows.”_ **

That makes Kyle shake his head, just as his legs do, falling under the dress and winding up around Stan’s back as he starts to shake with pre-orgasmic waves.

**_“I wanna do so many fucking things with you, baby. Wanna just fill you with my cock all the time, because you’re just such a pretty thing, the best girl I’ve ever known. You take my cock so well, everything so fucking well. I wish I could just cram my dick down your throat every waking hour, fuck you full of semen until you drip with it, and then I can humiliate you just like I’m doing right now.”_ **

Kyle nods dumbly, hips meeting Stan’s lightning fast thrusts, trying to keep the sound down but beginning to forget that as he feels orgasm draw closer and closer.

 _“Yes, yes, yes, Stan!”_ he spills, feeling his abdominal muscles tense hard. _“Yes, please, just fuck me, talk to me, all the fucking time! I-I don’t want anything else, just you, ahn,_ **_fuck!”_ **

Kyle cums as Stan’s washboard abs run over his dripping cocklet one last time, sliding his own precum down his slick shaft and making him finally lose it just as his giant cock smashes his prostate simultaneously. He cums in a few quick spurts, back arching all the way off the bed and pressing into Stan’s chest, completely flush every square inch, moaning incoherently into Stan’s lips cries of pure elation.

And at those sounds, that look of pure joy, Stan just can’t take it anymore. He buries his cock all the way inside Kyle, feels himself tense and cum all the way inside his guts, filling him up with his sperm just as promised.

Tugs on Kyle’s hair one last time, can only imagine how aching his scalp must be now, beginning to come down from the heady cloud of lust and so letting his fingers drop with it. Starts to feel bad immediately, but he shakes it off. No, Kyle’s fine with this. He might bitch, anyone would, but he asked for it, would surely do it again… right?

Kyle brings Stan back to him with a gentle slap to the cheek.

“Good job,” he smirks.

Exactly.

*****

And some record clean up and goodbyes later, Kyle’s left to lean back on his pillow, sweat covering his flushed body and making him markedly warmer than he had been half an hour before.

_Jesus Christ…_

_He feels it all only then._

_He just fucking had sex in his childhood bedroom, all the while his family slept around him in the same house Stan had just plodded through an unknown intruder._

It should be really fucking creepy.

But instead, lying there with a newly purchased buttplug keeping all that hot cum inside him, it seems kinda… hot, honestly.

Yeah.

Kyle was going to hell.

He’d come to terms with that long ago, though.

So, rolling onto his side facing the wall, he manages a smile.

_He can sleep happily tonight, especially considering he’s got Stan, by proxy at least, to warm him through it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next chapter, you’ll never guess it… more sex! :D


	9. Hot n Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, come on, when has _trusting me_ ever not worked out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> I wrote this all in basically one day because I hate myself I guess lol! Anyway, enjoy! <3

_January 12th, 2020 - Sunday_

Kyle’s phone lighting up on his desk is all the excuse he needs.

 _Finally,_ he thinks as he grabs his coat from his closet, layering himself quickly before shoving his phone in his pocket.

_He can finally leave the claustrophobic confines of the deathtrap that had become his room!_

Well, his room was fine, for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t really _that_ small, it was just… It felt like an infinite density, like a fucking black hole, because Kyle knows that if he were to step a foot outside, to make one wrong sound, there’s something awaiting him.

Always.

Watching.

_… Not really, but it sure did seem like that sometimes._

It’s his mother, of course. She keeps bothering him, doting on him, acting, as he said to Kenny, _weird._ Very, very **_weird._ **

Of course, she wasn’t exactly the most normal woman to begin with. Somewhat uptight, over-protective, strict, and highly-religious as everyone damn well knew by now, it could seem like normal behaviour to one not looking close.

Not looking _closely enough,_ Kyle would say.

Because she was _definitely_ acting weird. It wasn’t just his imagination, either, because he’d asked Ike about it, and yeah, he said, she is a little funny.

Even more wound up than usual, forgetting odd things and so burning casseroles. Which was a shame, because they were good casseroles, actually.

A little more hesitant than usual at the dinner table, seeming distant with her hesitation, her forgetful stare at the wall clock or the fireplace before their father woke her up, of course.

But most of all, Kyle knew it by the way that her gaze paused on him in particular. Not Ike, not their father, not anyone or anything else. Just him.

She would look, and look, with her glassy stare, unreadable expression, mouth firmly set despite the food still on her plate she was picking at.

Out of the corner of his eye Kyle would see it, watch her lips twitch, blink slowly at him. It was infuriating, not being able to know the thoughts going on in her head, what exactly was making her act this way.

And even when he didn’t see it, Kyle would _know._ He could feel her eyes, the mile-long look drilling into his skull enough to sear a hole into, he _fucking swears!_

_Just digging, pressing, watching, waiting._

**_But never_ ** **saying,** **_never_ ** **speaking.**

Kyle knew the most probable cause immediately, felt his heart jump and his mind race the first time he caught her staring and began to piece it all together.

That was on fucking Monday, of course. Almost a fucking week ago.

And with her not saying anything, not even a word or a hint or a slip-up somewhere as was the Broflovski way, it left Kyle’s mind to overthink and second-guess as it naturally does. Try to help him, build him up, console him just as much as _it tore him to fucking shreds._

No, no, Kenny couldn’t _possibly_ be right!

There was no way his mom had caught on that he was in a relationship with Stan, one that was quickly becoming much more than just friendly, as it had been for years!

Absolutely no way!

It must just have been that… she… was worried of his blood sugar, his white blood cell count, how sickly or not he was looking recently, _his fucking PH levels._

_Anything, anything else!_

Because why, _oh why,_ why would she ever come to that conclusion?

How?

_How in the name of the good Lord would she ever figure it out?_

Practically running down the stairs, Kyle refuses to acknowledge the fact that Kenny is, again, always right. Especially about this, at least.

He’d probably slipped up somewhere, she’d seen a mark or a bruise or a fucking hickey _oh God!_

It was so embarrassing he wants to just crawl under his blankets for the hundredth time and binge-watch videos into a coma yet again, but no! He has to get out of the house before he literally goes mad, has to go join the guys instead of putting them down, making some excuse, when really, he’s too ashamed to even tell his mom he’s gotta go somewhere.

God, he was a fully-fledged adult! Paid for his own food and everything up in New Haven! Had a part-time job, a bunch of new friends he could forget when it was convenient, etcetera! He didn’t need to fear his mother anymore, to ask her permission to go somewhere like a little teenager!

 _Yes, he could do this,_ he tells himself as firmly as he can in his mind, all the while his heart races enough to threaten cardiac arrest as his hand slaps down on the rail at the end of the stairs.

“Hey, mom!” he says, just a little loud because she’s in the kitchen down the hall. Can tell by the sounds of her preparing dinner, already.

“Yes?” she responds right back, her high voice echoing off the walls and reverberating in his skull.

No, he can’t do this, actually.

Call him a ten-year-old baby all over again, because that’s exactly what he feels like as he leans on the wall, that cardiac seeming incredibly tempting all the sudden.

At his silence, his mother becomes extremely concerned, as is her nature, of course. Kyle _really_ fucking wishes she wasn’t like this, could just be like his father who wouldn’t really give a shit, like so many mothers who wouldn’t care–

But she’s already round the hallway, mixing spoon in one hand and the other on her hip.

She has a smile already on her face, twitching just a second as she sees her eldest son pressed against the wall with his coats all on his body and puffing out his frame ridiculously. But the grin comes right back up, immortal.

“Kyle,” she hums, hand moving to cross her chest, hold her elbow. “What’s going on, sweetie? Are you going somewhere?”

“Uhh,” he swallows hard, mind flicking back to _can-do-this_ mode. “Yes, mom. I, am going somewhere! Definitely!”

She chortles, seeming only a little confused as she gives him a kind look. “Oh, and where would that be?” Puts her weight on one leg. “I mean, just for curiosity’s sake, of course. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Kyle blinks at that. Not necessarily for the words themselves, they’re nice enough. But it’s the tone, the way she said it. Almost as though she could wink with it, the ever-so-slight roll of her eyes to the ceiling before they drop back down on him to wait for an answer.

And, ah yeah, he thinks with an open mouth. He should give an answer. Or a non-answer. Either or. But he should probably have said something about a year ago–

“Bowling. With Kenny, Cartman, Butters, and Stan.” He really focuses on getting all those names out as easily as possible, a complete poker face even as he says the last one.

“Mm,” she nods. “That sounds fun! How long will that take, you think?” She brandishes her spoon. “Be home for dinner?”

“I…” It should definitely be a safe, yes, probably, sure. But he finds it just dies on his tongue. He glances up to his mother, or down really, since she’s much shorter than him and he’s on a step so it’s even fucking shorter. And, for some reason, it feels like it would be a lie.

And he just can’t lie to her, can he?

“I don’t know. I-I’ll let you know, though.”

She pauses for a moment. There’s that familiar look, the stare into the very depths of his soul as she tries to figure her son out. But she’s just as unreadable, the smile still there as it remains most of the time, but it seems hollow.

And then she manages to rip her gaze away from Kyle’s, to the wall as she chuckles.

“Oh, son, don’t worry about that.”

“What?”

She huffs, glancing right back. “Don’t worry about letting me know _anything._ I’m fine. One last seat at the table, one last mouth to feed! More for everybody else,” she laughs. But it seems somewhat… forced.

So Kyle finally descends the step, brushing a hand on her shoulder to make her look him in the eye dead-on. He fears it still, of course. But he just can’t stand to see her acting, like this.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll tell you. Anything you need to know.”

Her smile falls after a moment of processing his words. Brow furrowing down with it.

_And only then does Kyle realize that sentence could definitely be taken in a much deeper way oh shit–_

But she smiles again.

“It’s okay, honey. Stan already told me everything.”

_Kyle can’t say anything._

_Because he can’t think._

_Can’t even fucking breathe._

So his mom gives him a good slap with the hand not holding the mixing spoon, reviving her son back to life as she makes a sound between a laugh and that of genuine worry for her offspring.

“Kyle? Are you okay?”

_“H-he, S-St-Stan, t–”_

_Now, he thinks he’ll have a_ **_stroke._ **

_Just have a stroke and die, that would be_ **_nice._ **

“Yes, Stan said you _two were dating!_ What, did he not tell you?”

Kyle’s still doubled over, hyperventilating before his mother, but manages to turn his flushed face up enough to look at her. “No. No, he didn’t fucking tell me anything, Mom. _He never tells me anything.”_

“Oh, honey!” she calls in concern, dropping the spoon right on the ground as she uses two free hands to try to compel him to a stand. “I’m sorry! You know, a good relationship relies almost solely on communication!”

“Ugh, I know, don’t worry, I’m definitely at fault too…” Kyle groans, straightening enough so she’s left to twiddle her fingers.

“So… it wasn’t a joke, either?”

Kyle frowns. “A joke?”

“I mean, what Stan said to me over the phone, it wasn’t just some silly prank or anything? Because I nearly fainted, and although he did his best to seem shocked, I think he must have found it at least a bit amusing–”

“Why does he have your phone number, Mom?!”

“Oh! Because I gave him all sorts of recipes, links to articles and blogs that I like, he really appreciates it, I mostly just write things down or take pictures of the cookbooks we have, but occasionally I’ll ring him when I remember something suddenly of some wonderful old course I’d all but forgotten! Oh, he’s such a sweet boy, you really do pick them well, you know that, Kyle! I could always tell, all that mischief you two got up to, it was probably the other boys leading you astray, and he was always a good egg.” She sighs.

“I still haven’t told him the secret to making perfect sufganiyot yet, though. He’d have to marry in, it’s a family secret, after all.”

And only then does his mother realize that Kyle’s been deathly silent through her entire tirade.

She looks up from gazing dreamily to the ceiling, immediately graced with a deep scowl.

“Mom.”

“Yes, Kyle?”

 _“Stan Marsh,_ said that he was dating me, _me, your_ **_son._ ** And you’re talking about _recipes.”_

She puts her hands up. “What? Is something the matter with me discussing cooking with him? I know it’s a bit odd, but he seems even more interested in it than I, although from what he’s shown me, he doesn’t seem the best chef–”

 **“Mom!”** he snaps her out of it. “That’s **_exactly fucking_ ** it! _Aren’t you freaked out?!_ **_Why aren’t you freaked out?!”_ **

**“Kyle!”** she yells right back, giving him a good, hard tap to the head with a knuckle. “Do _not_ swear at me, son!”

“I’m sorry,” Kyle sighs. “Just, _why? Why does it almost seem like you’re…_ **_okay_ ** _with this?_ Isn’t it…”

He looks to the floor, to his shifting boots on the tiles, before forcing himself back up.

**_“Wrong?”_ **

His mother tilts her head. Squints hard. Opens her mouth but no sound comes out other than a choked exhale, a noise of pure exasperation for her bewildering son.

And then, finally, she manages a forced sigh, taking a step back and noticing the spoon on the ground in the corner of her eye.

She bends to pick it up, a hand coming back to her hip. Exactly the same as she’d entered the living room, as even her smile comes back to life.

“Kyle,” she says. “It’s not my call, whether it’s right or wrong. Whether I should like it or not. That’s between you and God, I have nothing to do with it, just as I have no judgment to make of anyone else for their decisions.”

Kyle just stands there, stares before he finally has to blink.

It made no sense.

“If you really… love him,” she sighs, “and he really loves you, too, then I don’t see why you can’t be in a healthy, mutual relationship. It is a bit… odd, I will admit. You’ve been friends for over a decade, and, what, you’ve only just realized it now?” she chuckles.

Kyle thinks about lying to her, as he lays a hand on the rail.

But he just can’t do that.

“I’ve had a crush on him for years, Mom.” Her smile falls as her gaze goes up. “I-I’ve talked to Kenny about it, and Ike knows, but I just…” he shakes his head, the words dying in his brain, searching for anything to just stammer out.

“You were scared?”

He meets her eyes, sees the sudden clarity.

She frowns. “Was it just of rejection, or was it, do you think, partly of me? Of what everyone else would think?”

Kyle wants so badly to rip his gaze away from hers, her intensive eyes, just as curious as he is as to the answer.

But he balls his fist to his side, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket as he remembers he’s got somewhere to be, things to do.

_And he realizes he can’t just spend his entire life avoiding everything._

“Yes. I was scared of everything, I think. Of him, of Wendy, of my friends, of my peers, the adults, Ike, Dad, and… you.”

She nods, ready to console him–

“But,” Kyle’s steady voice catches her off-guard, “most of all, I know I was scared of myself. Of what I really think, what I want, who I am, how I might change because of him and all the possibilities. And how I didn’t really know exactly who I was to begin with. How I never really will.”

He spits it all out, and then in the second that follows, regrets it immediately.

Because that was just a bunch of nonsense, a bunch of stupid shit he’d just thought in his stupid brain and then immediately let slip out with any sort of filter, and sort of quality control to adapt it into a concept that actually had some form, some substance, over the pretentious rubbish that it was–

“I understand,” his mother says.

At his dumbfounded face, the wideness of his green eyes, his mouth even parted after all the revelations he’s had in the last ten minutes, she laughs.

“It’s alright,” she mutters, leaning forward to pat him on the back, push him toward the door on slow feet. “It takes an entire lifetime to figure out who you really are, Kyle! I… I’m still getting there, in a way…”

The sad look in her eyes makes it clear to him what she means.

“But I’m sure we’ll make it in the end. And if we don’t, at least we tried. That’s what life is really all about, I believe!”

She takes his hands bigger than hers now, squeezing on them just like she would when they were much smaller, two fitting between one where now she couldn’t even wrap her fingers fully around his pale palms.

So much time had passed since he was in elementary school and went on so many dangerous adventures with her friends that he could now see had worn wrinkles into her face, just the slightest marks of age as they both went on through the years.

He had been a child then, she a fully-grown woman yes, but still, they had so much more to learn. Time to take, to slowly grow into themselves through the trials and events that would happen in the decade following.

And all that regret of never doing things, of never just reaching out to his friend while he was still in a committed relationship, all the time he’d thought he’d wasted, that he’d never get back as he just longed in the isolation of his room…

It doesn’t seem wasted anymore.

_Because he wasn’t ready yet, then._

But now, as he smiles back at her, he knows he is.

And, slowly, so will she be.

“You’re right,” he grins, straightening back up.

She waves him on to just go to the door. Not ready for a hug yet, though, it seems.

“Thanks, Mom,” Kyle says. _“Thanks a lot.”_

“Oh, you’re welcome. But what else is a mother supposed to do?”

He laughs, opening the door and pulling his scarf over his mouth as the wind chill picks up immediately. The bitter cold like a refreshing shock to his system. Matching the wonderful discoveries he’s finally made.

He turns back and shouts through the thick knitting of the wool to his mom standing at the corner, “You’re the best mom ever.”

And her expression of shocked happiness is worth everything in the world.

*****

_“You’re not nearly as good at this as skeeball…”_

**_“Shut up!”_ **

“But that doesn’t even make sense, does it?” Stan laughs, running around the table to keep Kyle from hitting him. _“I mean,”_ he huffs, faking him out as he changes direction with a cackle befitting the emptiness of the alley, _“it’s like exactly the same thing, right? Just tossing a ball down a lane trying to hit the centre,_ **_hah!”_ **

_“Oh my Goddd,”_ Cartman slurs, sticking a leg out to try to trip one of them but unfortunately having no luck. It’s pretty noticeable, after all. “Can you two stop?”

“Oh,” Kenny smirks, “like you’re one to talk about being childish! You don’t even do anything all day!”

Cartman scowls over the sound of laughter, both from the two friends still horsing around, and Butters’, as he apparently gets a nine. Which makes him scowl even harder. “No, Kyenny, it isn’t about the fucking around. I don’t give a rat’s ass about that, as you said. It’s that they’re being fucking disgusting.”

“Oh?” he tilts his head, propping his legs on Kyle’s empty chair with a soda in hand. “And how’s that?”

“I mean,” Cartman seethes as the two go over for Stan’s turn. “Look at them. Now, I wouldn’t care about PDA all that much usually, but there’s no girl here! Bleh, it’s just horrible!”

Kenny laughs, patting Butters on the back for a job well done. “Shuddup, man– Not you, Butters, you can keep smiling all you want– _Cartman.”_

Kenny leans forward over the table, meeting him with a glare. “Don’t you dare say anything to them, okay? Not even a gay joke, you’re not allowed to do that anymore.”

“Oh, what? Kyle’s got his panties in a twist again?”

Kenny just grins while Cartman gets Vietnam flashbacks in his chair.

“Basically.” He sits back down with a huff. Wonders why Stan even shit talks when he has an average of four pins.

Honestly, they really _were_ just blatantly flirting at this point, he concludes over the carbonation of his drink. Watches them shout at each other over God knows what, kick their shoes like they’re playing footsie, except apparently forgot the part where you hide it under a table.

He shakes his head. Just wishes Kyle would get over it sooner or later, because this was just ridiculous.

It was only a matter of time before–

 **_“You,”_ ** a distinctive voice begins in a song that echoes down the hollow bowling alleys.

**_“Change your mind.”_ **

The muffled synth beat is undeniable.

**_“Like a girl, changes clothes.”_ **

Kenny grins as his head snaps up to see Stan practically shoving his pants down just trying to fish his phone out of his jean pocket. The belt saves him, but his nervous fingers don’t, as the phone which he still hasn’t clued in to at least put on vibrate plays enthusiastically.

**_“Yeah, you~”_ **

**_“PMS,”_ ** Butters says in falsetto, his blissful joy much the opposite to Kyle’s obvious rage as he stares down at the cellular device left on the slippery floor of the lane.

**_“Like a bitch, I would know!”_ **

They can’t quite hear them yelling from their seats a good few feet away, but they can see them obvious whisper-shouting at each other as Kyle snatches the phone up.

The redhead looks to the screen for half a second and then makes a groan loud enough to be audible over, **_“And you~ overthink, always speak, critically.”_ **

He lets the phone slip from his hands, caught mid-air in a pretty smooth move by Stan who watches him stomp away.

Kenny purses his lips, frowning.

The ringtone seems fitting for only one, something Stan probably changed sooner or later.

It’s gotta be Wendy, calling him for who knows what the fuck.

And they all sigh, as the scene plays out before them. Knowing exactly what’s going to happen.

But then Stan does something surprising.

Instead of answering his phone as expected, letting Kyle get away from him yet again, he stops.

And reaches out to his friend walking away from him, grabbing him by the shoulder and making him face him once again.

**_“I should know, that you’re no good for me~”_ **

And he just turns his phone even louder.

**_“ ‘Cause you’re hot, then you’re cold!”_ **

And even Cartman has to sing such a catchy chorus.

**_“You’re yes, then you’re no!”_ **

Which, of course, allows Stan to sing the song in a totally not homoerotic way at all, to a Kyle who slowly seems to be getting it.

**_“You’re in, then you’re out!”_ **

**_“You’re up, then you’re down!”_ **

Even he has to join in now, no matter how hesitant Kyle seems.

**_“You’re wrong when it’s right!”_ **

**_“It’s black and it’s white!”_ **

Everyone’s basically shouting now.

**_“We fight, we break up!”_ **

**_“We kiss, we make up!”_ **

And then the call automatically declines, leaving them all to slowly die off with no beat to guide them.

 _And to the sight of Stan and Kyle who are_ **_definitely_ ** _too close for comfort._

Because, super best friend forever or not, it should be obvious to _anyone_ with eyes that you should never be toe-to-toe, pressed chest together, practically embracing next to a bowling alley.

Unless, maybe, you were on a date.

_Which is why Kenny decides to wolf-whistle._

What can he say? Katy Perry got him excited!

But as the two special friend’s gazes drag over, making them remember that there _are_ indeed other people in the room, Kyle gives him a look that could just about kill, he thinks.

And he regrets it immediately as the two step apart, brushing their shoulders and awkwardly staring at their shifting shoes.

“I’m a genius!”

Instantly, everyone snaps over to the bubbly sound, Butters in the hall silent but for the rock and roll music playing much too quietly on the speakers clapping his hands with giddy.

At least Kenny can grin. “Yes, you are!” he confirms.

Cartman just glances between the two parties, utterly confused.

But he does know one thing, at least.

“You’re gay,” he yells to the bewildered couple at the lane, partly to see their reaction, partly to spite Kenny because he has a problem where he feels the need to rebel against anything literally anyone asks of him.

This time, though, Kyle doesn’t shoot a death glare. Stan doesn’t cough and then pretend to be very interested in the moulding on the walls.

Instead, they only nod, while Kenny and Butters are busy giggling to each other.

“Sure,” Kyle sneers to his arch-enemy. Purposefully presses a hand to Stan’s bigger chest, leaning into him with a devious look in his eyes. “I’m in love with Stan, and I actually _have_ been for years. What you gonna do about it?”

Cartman sits there, petrified. Only his eyes move, glancing from Kyle’s shit-eating grin to the high flush on Butters’ cheeks to the way Stan’s hand snakes round to hold Kyle by the shoulders to Kenny’s look of utter infatuation.

_And he realizes everyone is gay._

_Literally everyone in South Park is gay now._

Except him, and a handful of others, apparently. But who knows how long that will even last, how deep this rabbit hole goes.

He looks at his glass and wishes it were cyanide.

But it might as well be, he thinks over the happy giggling all around him.

Because there must be something in the fucking tap water! He knew it, all along! It was turning everyone into a God-damned homosexual!

And all that laughter instantly dies as they all stare in pure concern at Cartman who’s now jumped up onto the table still wobbling dangerously beneath him, having just declared his thoughts aloud.

Butters tilts his head.

 _“But I’m not gay,”_ he whispers, utter naïvety, clear confusion and innocence in his oblivious, sweet face.

And everyone can laugh again at that, at least.

*****

 _“Yeah, no, I know… It’s just, I just– Okay, yeah…”_ A long sigh.

Stan bites his lip as he sits in his chair, listening to Kyle’s voice muffled through the bathroom door as he tells his mom he’s gonna be staying the night at Stan’s house.

It was supposed to be just a quick little thing, but it was getting concerningly long. Strange. He wishes he could hear what the other woman was saying, but he, of course, can’t. Can’t tell a smidgen from Kyle’s vague answers and words what’s going on and oh thank God he’s finally done.

“Hey,” Stan grins, leaning back in his chair to creak it and appear at least a little casual. “She say no?”

“Well, I’m already here, and even if she did say no, I wouldn’t leave. Because I’m an adult now, Stan.”

“Right,” he chuckles, hoping it doesn’t come off as nervous as it sounds to his own ears. He glances to Kyle and yep, there was no way that didn’t sound nervous, what with the unimpressed stare he’s giving.

“Er, yeah, you’re an adult now, Kyle! We both are, isn’t that wonderful?” He kicks his legs up on the desk, even though he normally doesn’t actually do that. “We’ll be going back to college on Wednesday, remember?”

Kyle scowls. _“Yeah… Thanks for making me remember that, dude,”_ he huffs sarcastically, skipping the seat Stan had pulled up to instead recline on the bed. He sighs languidly, staring up at the ceiling. “Man… I’ll have to go all the way back to New Haven basically the length of the entire fucking country away… and you’ll go to California again… fuck.”

Stan furrows his brow as he pauses his game. “Yeah. That’s true. But… it’ll be okay,” he offers a kind grin, getting up from his chair to join Kyle on the bed, sitting a foot away from his splayed leg. “No matter what, I’ll be with you.”

Kyle shakes his head, rubbing his face with his hands. “No, Stan..! I mean, sure, you can be there in spirit or whatever, but we won’t be able to actually touch, to be together, to fuck–”

“Hey, hey,” Stan consoles him, rubbing a hand on his ankle as he looks back. “It’ll be alright, trust me.”

Kyle grimaces.

“Oh, come on, when has _trusting me_ ever not worked out?”

In the pause that follows, Kyle thinking back to the many times it _definitely_ has not, the house gets noticeably quieter. They look down although they can’t see it, but they both know that the television’s turned off, Stan’s mom done with watching Desperate Housewives or whatever.

So Kyle gets up again, heaving a low breath as he swings his knees over the edge.

“Whatever,” he says. “I forgot to take a shower, can I use yours?”

Stan follows Kyle’s finger to the bathroom Stan conveniently gets all to his own— _so fucking wonderful, it should be mandated for every house._

He laughs. “Ah, I mean, sure, if you wanna try! But you know how confusing showers–”

 _“Are,”_ he mutters as the bathroom door shuts tight, Kyle on the other side once again, a thick wall of separation between them.

The water starts immediately and Stan sighs.

 _This was supposed to be a_ **_fun_ ** _night…_

So he gets up and goes back to playing his open world game all by himself again. It was fun and everything, he really liked it, but just… it was always more fun with Kyle there, to comment on the cutscenes, talk through the boring bits, make fun of him when he died…

He prefers a controller to a keyboard and mouse but settles for it for a dozen or so minutes, just tap tap, clicking away through the missions and the shooting while he waits for his friend.

Listening to the whinny of his horse, the slow drawl of the people’s western accents, the barking of wolves as he’s stun-locked and killed by them yet again… _Sigh…_

And then, his ear starts to pick up another sound.

At first, he thinks it’s coming from the game. Some sort of low purr, a little vibrato as it comes through his speakers on the left. So he tries to search for it, but it seems all too weird, too real, somehow.

 _Because it_ **_is_ ** _real, he realizes with a beat of his heart that goes straight to his stomach._

A trace of horror, of fear and pure anxiety runs through his entire body.

Because it just feels so _wrong,_ to hear noises like that that arouse him _immediately._

Because this was his room, in his house where, although they were surely asleep, people still certainly _were there._ Hopefully they couldn’t hear them, definitely, actually, couldn’t hear Kyle through the multiple walls between their bedrooms and the upstairs bathroom, but _still!_

It just seems so bad, so sinful, so taboo.

And yet that just turns him on even more, as a surge of pure lust goes directly down to his cock, making him only half-consciously guide his guy to a safe spot in the game, just so he won’t raise too much suspicion if the sound were to change.

Then Stan just stares at the bathroom door in something like shock, wide-eyed but mouth firmly shut as he can clearly hear the sounds of Kyle’s moaning now that he’s eagle-focused on it.

It’s quiet, barely perceptible under the sounds of the running water, his game still idly playing though, of course, he pays absolutely no attention to it anymore.

But it gets progressively louder, growing in noise level until Stan’s absolutely sure it’s on purpose. The pitch heightens as well, from a low groan to high, keening moans that sound to catch in his throat, turn into strangled cries that bounce off the tile and right into Stan’s ears to be drunk up and turn his brain to mush.

The seconds feel like hours to his hazy brain, the heady feeling of adrenaline coursing through his body, blood filling his veins and lighting a fire in his groin. He can’t stand to wait any longer even though he’s only been listening for ten seconds at most, so follows exactly what his body tells him to do, rising from the chair.

He walks to the door, his hand automatically coming upon the doorknob but he’s not entirely sure why. He certainly can’t just open it, it seems far too intrusive.

But at the same time, he wants to. And what’s really the worst that could happen? Kyle was his boyfriend or whatever now, they’d had sex numerous times, he’d made him cum from his hands, his mouth, his cock, and who even knows how much from the fantasies that he gave him.

Most importantly, though, Kyle was clearly doing this on purpose. His moans get even louder as Stan waits at the door, feeling his cock reach full hardness as he’s just forced to idle, to imagine what in the world is going on in there.

Images of him in the shower, his body slick as his hair, the steam that pours from out the cracks of the door coating him in wet warmth. Of course, utterly naked, getting himself off under the running water… somehow.

He could just be jerking himself off, but somehow Stan doubts that. Kyle obviously seemed highly sensitive to him, so he would totally believe that the guy could cum from just prostate stimulation alone, even without a hard cock fucking him to orgasm. Just his fingers as he stretches himself, rubs down hard on the gland within his body until his legs shake with orgasm–

 _Holy fuck,_ Stan thinks as he leans against the door, his erection pressing right up against it in his desperation. He’s so fucking hard he swears he’s gonna cum in his shorts right then and there, just waiting for Kyle to get the fuck done with his shower already so he can _fuck him silly._

 **_Fuck,_ **and if Kyle cumming without even touching himself at fucking all was embarrassing, it’s going to be even more so if Stan just ejaculates right then and there, just thinking about him.

Stan can’t have that, of course.

And what’s a little peek?

So he grips the door knob hard, turning his skin white from how hard his grip his. He tries to think of anything else than his dick, tries so hard not to cum and instead tries to imagine his hold on the door as grounding him.

But that’s all thrown right the fuck out the window when he begins to swing it open, just the tiniest, tiniest sliver of white through the edge of it.

Steam instantly hits his face, and, along with it, the moaning gets about one million times louder. Or, at least, so it seems.

No barrier between them anymore but for the shower curtain, Kyle’s cries of pleasure are almost unbearably loud.

And it goes _straight_ to Stan’s cock.

He literally _feels_ the surge of arousal as he opens the door another millimetre, too overcome by lust to stop himself as his cock throbs in his trousers.

It gets even louder, partly because he’s nudged the door, partly because he just thinks Kyle does. But he doesn’t stop is the important part, doesn’t hesitate at all.

And as Stan slides it open barely a thread at a time, it lets him see the mirror, sliver by sliver.

But he realizes with a thud of his heart that was he _doesn’t_ see is the blue of the shower curtain. Instead, there’s just the white wall, the tub beneath it porcelain and shining.

Pale flesh comes into view soon enough, moving in the reflection and making his heart fill with such strong emotions he instantly wants to just shut the fucking door, _forget it ever happened._

But, at the same exact time, he knows he can’t do that. He can’t just wait. Can’t just jerk himself off and then be forced to dispose of it all with a tissue. Would feel like a fucking waste, somehow.

So he just opens it further and further, more milky skin surrounded by plumes of steam, masked by the running beads of water he can barely make out at the distance. All his flesh flushed a warm red under the heat, with the blood of sex surely filling his body as he just keeps moaning, groaning, crying.

His torso, arms, legs, form a figure that stands facing him, shaking, writhing ever-so-slightly through the fog forming upon the mirror. And though Stan’s got the door ajar to let the heat out, it’s too late, as the condensation builds until it leaves the glass a white so opaque it completely obscures its reflection, rendering it useless.

And Stan then has no choice but to peek his head around the conveniently-sized gap left in the doorway now.

Because he almost saw Kyle’s face, his moaning, expressive, wonderful fucking face letting out all those beautiful sounds.

_And also his leaking cock._

_And he just_ **_has_ ** _to fucking see that._

But when he slowly rounds the corner, the sight makes him drop everything.

Metaphorically, of course, because he’s holding nothing. _But, boy, if he_ **_were_ ** _holding something! It would be on the fucking ground, let’s just say that!_

Because Kyle’s staring directly at him, a smile to his panting lips through the running water and all the humidity. But in his eyes is a glint of want that belies his amusement, that makes Stan know he’s probably not completely fucked for being caught trying to spy on him masturbating.

“Enjoying the show?” Kyle purrs across the room, smirking, but as his arm moves, his lips part in another heady keen.

Stan leans forward, still just a shy head in the doorway, but able to see that Kyle’s cock is surely there.

 _Just, there. Not being touched, not stroked, not even_ **_fucking acknowledged._ ** _Just a red, dripping thing poking out from his body, so desperate for contact but being denied fucking anything._

So that means there’s only one way Kyle could be getting himself off so much, and his hand pumping behind himself confirms it.

Stan gulps, remembering he was supposed to answer whether or not he… liked this. Only one answer to that.

“Y-yes,” he can barely squeak out.

Kyle giggles. “ ‘Y-yes’,” he mocks before thrusting his hand hard behind him. Which is weird, as Stan takes a step in, because he can still see Kyle’s fingers with the new angle.

“Sorry, Stan,” Kyle breathes out shakily, his legs barely managing to keep themselves fully upright, having to lean his ass against the wall behind him instead. _But, it’s not fully pressed to it–_

 **And then it** **_finally_ ** **clicks in Stan’s head.**

Kyle smiles at him. “I bought it a while ago, just a little thing I grabbed real quick when I heard we were going out…”

“You had it while were bowling?!”

Kyle snickers. “What, it’s not like I was gonna use it or anything! No, I figured we’d probably end up together for the night, a little ‘sleepover’ or whatever again…”

He sighs, rubbing his thighs together, frotting his balls and making himself whine as he fucks himself deep with the dildo.

Looks up and meets Stan’s eyes with a look of pure fucked-out lust.

_“I just can’t wait to be fucked on your big cock again, Stan…”_

Oh, and that does it, as Stan steps all the way into the room, locking the door behind him. He reaches down to adjust himself, just has to in order to relieve himself of some of the immense pressure on his hard, throbbing cock, trapped inside of the thin material of his shorts but feeling like it might as well be a fucking prison.

 _“Are you touching yourself now, too?”_ Kyle’s voice whispers like a siren’s song, making him look up with his hand still on his cock, giving him some small reprieve but not nearly enough.

He watches his wrist flick, fucking something black and shiny with lube back inside of himself, moaning and bucking his hips, legs rendered looking just like a girl’s with the way he presses them together at the fat of his thighs. Other than for, of course, the twitching cock he had right at the apex of them. But that could surely be ignored.

 _“Don’t you wanna, ah,”_ Kyle squints with one eye through the rushing water, **_“fuck_ ** _me?”_

 _“God,_ **_yes,”_ **Stan can’t help but snarl, not even realizing he’s jacking himself off until he feels a pearl of sperm on his tip stain into his shorts.

 _“Mmm,”_ Kyle moans, shivering before him not with cold but with arousal, the white drops of cum at his tip before they’re swept away by the current obvious indicators that he was close to orgasm already. _“Then get naked and come fuck me, S-Stan!”_

Stan does so in record fucking time, just ripping his shorts down his legs, his shirt off and over his torso to be thrown onto the floor. Naked in mere seconds, Kyle can’t help but chuckle. Good to know he was always that close to being able to get a good fuck–

“Ah, Stan!” Kyle shouts more in surprise than anything else, water deflected onto him and off of a new nude body which quickly gets soaked.

But that surprise is quickly curtailed, as Stan immediately presses against him, letting his hands get warm and wet a second in the shower before they’re slapped onto Kyle’s bare flesh.

 _Ohh, and that just fucking feels_ **_so good,_ ** _for some damn reason!_

Kyle doesn’t even need to fuck the toy into himself again to feel his little cock throb, his mouth pouring out a moan before Stan’s is all over it. All over him.

 _Pressing down on him, pushing him, all around him so quickly but so fucking_ **_good._ **

It feels like heaven, and so Kyle doesn’t even mind all that much when he suddenly finds himself pressed down on the bathtub floor, pinned down by Stan’s strong, wet arms on his own. His solid fingers quickly rubbing down his sleek forearms and to his armpits, over the lines of his abdomen until they reach his tits yet again.

Kyle moans broken into Stan’s mouth, bucking his hips as he clenches down on the toy still inside of him. He can feel Stan’s cock rubbing against his pelvis, right next to his as he nearly cums just from all those sensations at once. He has to mentally deprive himself, starve himself of all thought just to stave off his orgasm.

 _Fuck, no, he can’t let what happened to him last time happen again, can’t just cum over and over again until he hardly even knew what pleasure,_ **_pain even fucking was–_ **

  
  


“St-Stan,” he squeaks, “d-don’t!”

“Hm?” Stan hums, pulling back from him just enough to let him talk.

“T-take me from behind this time, please,” Kyle pants, trying to struggle beneath him but of course failing.

“You mean, like, doggy style?”

Kyle nods desperately. “Yes, I-I wanna try it, just–”

And Stan lifts right off of him, allowing him to move enough to press his elbow to the textured ground, dig it in with what little space is still between them to flip over onto his stomach.

Then instantly, the second that he has himself almost situated with his ass pushed up into the air and chest to the ground in his hurry, Stan has himself draped over his entire body once again.

Kyle’s about to order him what to do when it immediately dies in his brain, not even reaching his tongue as he surrenders to mind-blowing pleasure.

Stan starts fucking the dildo in and out of him, deep and hard and dragging right along his prostate. He watches Kyle spread his legs on instinct, knees twitching across the floor just as his entire body does, cocklet swinging beneath him with every unconscious buck of his hips.

 _“So bad, Kyle,”_ Stan sighs over his delirious cries, feeling the water hit his skin as he shields Kyle from most of it. _“You’re so_ **_bad.”_ **

He leans down, drawing the toy out slowly while he whispers in his ear, **_“Such a bad, bad girl, aren’t you?”_ **

And as he slams it right back in, Kyle’s thighs literally jump into the air, enough to press him all the way forward onto his tits, nipples rubbing against the bottom as he whines in pure ecstasy.

 _“S-sorry!”_ he whimpers, having to just take it while Stan fucks him shallowly, waiting for something to appease him. _“I-I know, I shouldn’t have brought it, should have brought you something nice and cute to wear instead, but I just c-couldn’t.”_

Stan tuts. _“You’ll have to do that next time, won’t you?”_

Fervent nodding, twitch of his legs right along with his hanging cocklet, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he huffs while his prostate is constantly stimulated. _“Yes. Every time, promise, whenever you want it! J-just, please, Stan, fuck me,”_ he mewls, _“fuck me hard, right now, pl-please. I want you, not the toy, you!”_

And, much to his surprise, Kyle gets what he wants, the dildo dragging out of his pussy all the way until it pops with the head. Stan puts it on the wall of the tub quickly forgotten, instead distracting himself as he stares at Kyle’s abused cunt.

Gaping and still leaking with semi-transparent artificial lubricant, red and puffy at the rim with just how much he’s been playing with himself, how hard Stan pounded him in just a minute. So delicious Stan wants nothing more than to just eat him out again, but he denies his throbbing cock that for just this one time. Plenty more occasions to come, after all.

But no, actually, he isn’t gonna deny his cock, he thinks with a grin. Because he’s gonna fuck Kyle, fuck him hard with exactly that, feel him all around him while the hot water beats down on his back, plough into him until he would remember it for days–

Kyle snaps the second he sees Stan’s hand going for the lube, **_“No!”_**

Stan stops mid-grab for the bottle on the sill, instead staring down through soaked red hair to Kyle’s flush face on the linoleum. “What?”

Kyle sputters on the ground below him, suddenly bashful now that he has to explain himself. “E-er, no lube. I… you don’t have to use it.”

Stan furrows his brow, taking his cock in hand just to point it out. “You don’t want me to lube myself up?”

“No.”

“At all?” Ready nod. “Kyle!” Stan spits. “You’re fucking nuts, dude! We _need_ lube, I need it, at least, just let me at least slather my dick in a little bit of i–”

 **“No!”** Kyle snarls, slapping away the bottle off the wall, watching it clatter all the way to the opposite corner of the bathroom onto the rug.

He looks back over his shoulder, expecting Stan to be laughing hard at his whorishness, or perhaps to be irritated or confused or something like that.

 _But instead, all he finds is the slightest smirk to his lips, a glint of darkness in his eyes._ **_Power._ **

And Stan snickers just as dangerously. **_“You want it? Oh, you’ll get it, Kyle.”_ **

And Kyle’s left to scrabble at the floor, the rounded wall, the faucet, just anything trying to get a grip despite the wetness coating everything, making it all so horribly fucking elusive.

 _Because_ **_fuck,_ ** _that_ **_fucking hurts!_ **

Of course, he expected it to hurt. Fully.

 _But just, oh_ **_fucking_ ** _God,_ he’s reduced to a squealing, whining, whimpering mess beneath Stan who just keeps trying to push his cockhead slick only with water into his ass. Made to grit and bear it, nothing he can do, because even as he tries instinctively to run his hips away, Stan just catches him. Growls at him as he presses his body down, covers him completely and pins him with his hands.

Nowhere to go, nothing to do, no words he can say out of his strangled throat and _maybe he should’ve come up with a safeword or something for this but maybe he can just tap Stan three times and he’ll get it eventually and_ **_holy fucking shit this hurt so bad–_ **

But he just has to take it, take it, through the haze of pain as Stan _just won’t go_ ** _in,_** he knows that he can make it, that he has to be able to. He can make himself do it, do fucking anything just so long as it meant that he could get what he wants, let **Stan** get what he wants.

 **_“Oh, you’re so fucking tight, Kyle,”_ ** Stan groans above him, with one hand trying to press his cock in to no avail. **_“Your pussy is just too tiny, I don’t think I can do it–”_ **

Kyle shakes his head. No, no, he can do it, he can fucking do it–

So without even really meaning to, he lets his hips go lax, his hole following suit so Stan’s cock slams forward immediately. And with how hard he’d been pushing, turning his cockhead red with sheer force, it slides in entire inches directly into Kyle’s ass still half-dry.

Searing pain, wonderful pleasure, it shoots right up his spinal cord and into his brain to block everything else out. He forgets where he is, the water, the bathtub, the shower, fucking anything, as it all just becomes the same white.

 _He could seriously die right then and there, because, fuck, it’s the_ **_best fucking feeling_ ** **ever.**

And with the way Stan groans ragged right over his head as he finally comes back down, he thinks he must agree.

Kyle feels tight, way too tight, without the usual slick of plenty of lube to loosen him up or let the ride be easy. _It feels amazing,_ don’t get Stan wrong, _but also, it just feels exactly that,_ **_wrong._ **

Like he shouldn’t fucking be doing this. Like he’s seriously going to hurt Kyle, maybe he already has, and then they’ll have to go to the hospital and oh fucking God–

 _“More,”_ comes a weak voice beneath him, making him snap back to reality.

 _“More, Stan,”_ Kyle says as his blue eyes finally peel back down. _“More,”_ he whines, canting his hips back.

And after a moment of processing, Stan relaxes.

Smiles.

Because Kyle was, truly, the best fucking girl ever.

He slides in despite the resistance, begged on by Kyle’s clenching pussy, his swirling hips every inch of the way. He bottoms out soon enough, and the all-encompassing heat, from the water above pouring on his back to Kyle’s cunt all around his bare cock, it just feels _so fucking amazing._

He pulls out careful, definitely more attentive than if they had the luxury of lube, but, again, finds Kyle to be begging him to just hurry it up. He whines and moans, writhes like he isn’t getting fucking speared by a huge cock, made to take it right up like a slut. And Stan’s gotta admit, he’s fucking impressed. Seriously.

Stan sets a pace as fast as his conscience will allow. It’s slower than Kyle wants, of course, but Kyle’s fucking out of his mind with the delightful mixture of pleasure and pain, just in a complete and utter world of his own as he’s driven on by Stan’s wonderful cock pressing right into him in all the most wonderful ways.

And they might not be proud to say it, but they feel themselves build up pretty damn quick. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the direct, unhindered feeling of each other’s flesh driving in, all around; maybe it’s the position that lets Stan’s cock barrel right down into Kyle’s prostate, earn a hard clench as a reward and a moan filled with drool; maybe it’s the fact that they’re fucking in the bathroom to Stan’s room, while his family sleeps on none-the-wiser just beneath them.

But whatever fucking way it really is, they only last mere minutes of fucking hard on the bathtub floor before Kyle’s screaming just muffled enough by Stan’s clever hand, toes clenching as his cocklet twitches and his ass grinds down on Stan’s cock.

And Stan throbs on ever thrust into Kyle’s pussy, leaking precum like it’s nothing, going right into his tight tunnel and slicking it up just a little so he can thrust faster, harder, drive himself toward his inevitable end.

They both cry out at exactly the same time, the heat in their stomachs overtaking them as they cum together. Ejaculate smearing onto the floor, into his cunt, all to be washed away sooner or later by the water still streaming above them.

And after the few seconds of climax, spending their all tied to each other, they’re left in a state of bliss.

Without the usual sweat of aftersex, the sticky dampness of the sheets. Instead, the water washes it all away, leaving them feeling renewed, utterly refreshed.

And a little fucking tired after such a long day of pure fun.

Utterly refreshed, feeling like they have no reservations in the world. No regrets. Nothing weighing them down, not anymore.

Stan slips out of Kyle as he feels himself soften, popping from his hole just like the toy did still sitting neglected in the corner. He figures he can fuck him with it again one day. _Ahh, so many things he can do one day with this man…_

Now laying on each other, rivulets of water finding its way between their bodies to tickle their skin, they stare into each other’s eyes for a moment.

Then Kyle opens his mouth. “Thanks for telling my mom, idiot.”

“Oh. She. Told you about that?” Stan asks, running a hand through his hair before forgetting it’s fucking drenched.

“Yep. Why did you tell her that, Stan?” The tilt of his head almost seems… lethal, if that’s possible.

Stan tries for genuine, every day guy. Happy smile to his face as he leans over Kyle. “Because I just wanted you to be happy, man. And I know she can be a bit… much at times, so I tried to tell her real careful, slow, methodical. ‘Cause I knew it would be really hard for you to do it.”

Kyle huffs. “Really not your place to make me come out to my own mother…” He sighs tiredly. “But… I guess you were right, and it did work in the end… so…”

He wraps his skinny arms around Stan’s back, pressing him down.

“Thanks. Seriously this time,” he giggles, “no sarcasm.”

“Aw,” Stan breathes against his lips, finding that cute expression on his freckled face fucking irresistible, “but I like your sarcasm…”

“Hm,” Kyle hums. “Does your family know?”

Stan chuckles. “Well, Shelly definitely did a long fucking time ago… so,” he shrugs, “I’m sure they’ll figure it out… _if they haven’t already_ **_betted_ ** _on it.”_

Kyle groans, but lets Stan slide his lips against his, curling his fingers into black hair.

Just too damn happy to be angry anymore.

…

 _And then the water gets ice cold, and fuck, he’s_ **_furious_ ** _all over again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> Ookay, one last one and we’re all done here! This was pretty fun, and I’m mostly happy with the way it ended it up! 
> 
> The next chapter I predict starting with some rather kinky sex and then finishing it with a conclusion hopefully satisfactory! Till then!


	10. Pretty Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Little late on this one, but here is the finale! :D I hope it is a sufficient ending for you lovely readers! ^^
> 
> **UPDATE 1-26-20:** Just in case you started reading this only _after_ I posted the cover on the first chapter, it's there now! Feel free to check it out if you missed it, I put _way_ too much work into it lmao. Anyhow, enjoy the final chapter! <3

_January 14th, 2020 - Tuesday_

Kyle scoffs. “She did _not_ say that.”

“Yes!” Stan shouts back to him, “Yes she fucking did, man! I was fucking there, right in front of her, and so was Mom, and Dad, and everyone fucking else! Holy shit, it was so fucking embarrassing I wanted to just stab myself with the steak knife, swear to God!”

Still, Kyle seems unconvinced through his snickering. “Really? I mean, _really?”_ He looks up from digging through his bag. “I know it’s been a few years since I’ve actually had the ‘pleasure’ of interacting with your sister for more than a minute, but she can’t really be that fucking evil–”

“But she is! Here, I’ll re-enact for you!”

Kyle gives him a side eye, but sighs as he sees Stan clearly isn’t going to give up, waves him on.

Stan clears his throat, pushing off of the locked door to smirk in the middle of the room. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.” He locks eyes with Kyle, his lids going down half-way with an eery glint. “Hey Stanley.”

“Oh!” Stan sprints to his chair, sitting in it abrupt enough to make it squeak under his sudden weight. “Hello, Shelly,” he grumbles lower in an impression of his father. “How have you been?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he sighs as he goes on his feet again.

“Why’s that?” he sits with a falsetto to impersonate his mother.

He cackles way too evilly, even for his sister as he leans on his desk, eyes locked to Kyle’s all the while. “Oh, you know, ‘cause you should ask Stan…” he drags his gaze back to the empty chair. “He really ramped up the water bill last night.”

“And, at this point, Kyle, you gotta understand I’m basically having a heart attack with pure dread. And she just fucking laughs–”

He breaks off into a wicked guffaw, nodding between Kyle who’s wide-eyed— _good acting, even though he’s totally just bewildered that Stan’s apparently so into drama, who knew?_ —and the empty seat.

“Yeah! I know we all heard it, it went on for a whole fucking half hour! And, of course, I might’ve just been imagining it, but I think I heard something kinda like, y’know, Stan’s name. _Repeatedly._ **_Very loudly.”_ **

He throws himself into his chair, striking his elbow so the pain in his voice is real as he shouts high, “Shelly! That is enough! Not one more word before we lose our appetite!”

“And then she just fucking laughs again, of course,” Stan groans. “But there’s nothing fucking funny about that!”

He crosses his arms, looking from the wall to Kyle and–

Yeah, of course. He should’ve expected it. ‘Cause Kyle’s doubled over his bag, laughing hard into it with tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“S-so, y-you’re just sitting there, just saying nothing the entire time? **_Ahahah–”_ **

“What the fuck am I supposed to say, Kyle?! No, Shelly, that totally didn’t happen even though everyone clearly knows it did happen– Yes, Shelly, you are in fact right, and we had anal sex right there in my bathroom and completely forgot about everyone else for a good dozen minutes.”

Stan tosses his hands up. “Come on, dude, give me a fucking break!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kyle simpers through dying giggles. “J-just, fucking hilarious… I feel so bad for you, seriously. Ahh, God, I can only hope Ike stays quiet enough his entire life to never embarrass me like that, at least.”

Stan rolls his eyes, huffing. “Yeah, yeah, you get all the good things. Good sibling, good parents, good fucking food.”

Kyle tilts his head, watching the anger that is clear in his friend with the way he won’t meet his eyes, just staring at the bathroom door still leaking humid air.

“Hey, it’s okay, dude. Sometimes I… I definitely wish I could’ve grown up in your household instead, you know?” Stan just looks at him. “Seriously! I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but whose fucking house is? Like, if you think my mom is strict, hah, you have no idea the kinda hell hag she used to be when I was just growing up! No TV, no games, no nothing too far out of boring and safe books she’d pick for me, usually on judaism!”

Stan uncrosses his arms, straightening a little.

“And, it was only because of… _you,_ mostly, Stan, that she finally thought it was okay for me to, y’know, have normal things. Not be completely out of the fucking loop for the rest of my life, at least. So, thanks, for that.”

Stan cracks a smile.

_Just can’t stay mad at his best friend. Especially when he’d always been so damn good at debate club._

“You’re welcome.”

Kyle nods, finally laying out all the things he’d been rummaging through his bag for. “And I’ll definitely cook for you way more now–”

Kyle frowns, deflates slightly. “I mean, one day. One day, I will.”

Stan feels his heart pang, watching the slow movement of Kyle’s pale hands, his nails just dragging futilely over the fabric on the bed as he remembers the future. So horribly close, near and immediate. Nothing he could do about it, of course. It was way too late to.

Kyle had to go to Connecticut to continue Yale.

Stan had to go back to California to finish his own college year.

Almost the entire country away from one another, having to spend days, weeks, months separate. Of course, it would only be physical, but after getting together in the course of less than the month of their winter break… well, it would suck, to say the least.

To say the most, they can only _imagine_ the utter heartbreak, the longing, just how bad it would be.

Homesickness was bad enough. Feeling out of place in a completely foreign environment. Everything changed, different people, different nature, different **_home,_ ** _obviously._

So how bad would it be to not have the other there, one who was rapidly beginning to feel like _home_ more than even **_home?_ **

How many sleepless nights, depression deeper than the video calls and hours on the phone could ever possibly hope to dig them out of it?

How many tears that he would surely shed, just to deny the very next day, as he so clearly has before?

Stan finally exhales, returning to the present with an easy-going smile. “Don’t worry about that, Kyle. I’ll figure it out. We will, together.”

Kyle glances up, seeming unsure as he looks between the things on his bed and his ever-optimistic friend. He shrugs with a sigh, closing his eyes.

**_Accepting it, clearly._ **

_Because what else could he do, even?_

_He just had to trust it would all work out, in the end._

But now, right now, he has better things to do.

So he gets up from the bed and marches his ass right into the bathroom with all the shit to change.

*****

_“Start it.”_

Stan bites his lip, looking at Kyle’s face peeking around the door. Just the slightest hint of red too cherry to be natural, something much too dark on his eyes.

“Come on, Stan. _Just start it._ You already said it was fine, don’t _pussy_ out now…” A puff of laughter. “I mean, just fucking think of me, I _really_ don’t wanna do this, but, I’m gonna. _For_ **_you.”_ **

Stan nods before Kyle’s green eyes, picking up his phone and scrolling through it to find the right voicemail.

He makes it start after a few tense seconds of silence, turning the volume onto speaker and all the way up. Thank God his family were out for breakfast, letting him sleep in.

_Letting Kyle sneak in, really._

He watches as the door creaks open just as the static begins on the phone, pale flesh of his arms and legs drawing out of the doorframe and into the open. He keeps to the wall, flicking the light off behind him and keeping mostly his side presented to Stan. Still too shy to show off fully, it seemed.

But the white on his middle is undeniable, even if Stan can’t fully tell what exactly it is given the angle. It’s flowy, looking like silk or satin or something delicate like that, trailing behind him in the air that he makes as he goes straight for Stan’s desk.

As he bends over to click the mouse, tap the keyboard, it exposes his legs more, Stan’s eyes unable to stop from trailing down to his ass where the little lingerie ends.

The short outer cloak semi-transparent, it does little to hide the white gleam of the panties beneath, akin to the white lace that went with the Santa outfit but even sluttier.

Because they were higher cut, showing off more of the fat of his ass through the curtain of the babydoll, the bulge of his genitals at the very bottom left with just barely enough room to squeeze into them. Surely his cock was exactly the same, forced into female attire so clearly not meant for him.

The garterbelt above those panties leads down with its tiny embellished straps to the stockings that were much sheerer than the other pair. Just as lacy, but with the added transparency, it rendered his skin a cool pale white, let Stan see the freckles dappling even the back of his legs. All over his body, little marks of pure cuteness.

And he has little high heels beneath that. This time snow white versus the red of before, but they made up for the lack of obvious sex appeal in the colour with the make of them. An inch higher, they lifted his legs even more, angled his hips forward and his ass out.

_Even fucking better, Stan’s dick clearly says._

Stan only then realizes after he’s done ogling his boyfriend that, oh, yeah, he should be wondering what exactly he’s even doing on his computer?

He has a little mini panic attack because, oh God, what if Kyle was looking at his search history and found out that he watches really strange videos sometimes, but that’s only because it gets recommended to him, he’s not sure why, totally doesn’t look up videos on anime or anything because that’s _gay–_

But it’s okay, because Kyle finally finds the thing he was looking for, one last click of the computer mouse as he turns around.

And the song plays right as Kyle’s front is finally fully revealed, the phone to Stan’s side beginning to pick up muffled movement, a noise suspiciously similar to a sob.

It proves to be some smooth, trap sort of beat, lyric-less and more for filling the space between the sounds from Stan’s phone.

“You haven’t played it before, right?” glossy red lips ask, forcing his eyes right to them before they drag down his body nearly just as flushed, all the way over the white of the soft lingerie to the hem of it. To the little leaking cock peeking from his silk panties, white just the same as the fabric around it pearling at the tip.

Stan swallows, remembers the question. _“No–”_

And the phone echoes him, although in a higher voice. Whiny. Begging.

_“Stan,”_ the cell sobs, but he just can’t tear his eyes away from Kyle walking towards him slowly. Can’t anymore.

_“Stan,”_ Wendy says, crackly and distant-sounding over the message system, _“Stan, I’m sorry… I-I didn’t really mean those things–”_

Her voice breaks into a teary noise, and Stan knows some part of him should be saddened by it. To hear someone who had once been so special to him, inseparable and unforgettable be so wrought with grief at losing him. His own girlfriend, torn up over the thought of _actually_ losing him.

_Well, too little too late,_ Stan smiles.

Maybe if she had called him a few weeks ago, he would have answered. No hesitation had it been just a few days into the trip. At least heard the message a week after that, probably been convinced by the crocodile tears in her voice.

But now he knows how good she’d always been at manipulation. How, perhaps without even knowing her herself, she was the master of deception, at pulling at his heartstrings like a little puppet all her own before she let him drop to the cold floor, forgotten until she decided it would be fun to play around again the next week.

Over and over was this cycle of forget and forgive, endless.

But Stan doesn’t have to put up with that anymore to feel a fire in his stomach, a light feeling to his heart that lifts the corners of his mouth like nothing else can.

Because it’s right before him in his bedroom all the way back in his hometown of South Park, saddling over his muscled legs with a plush ass, looking down to him with a white smile of his own.

It had always been there, deep down in his heart he knew. But he was just too blinded on the surface to see it.

But now, as Wendy continues crying meaningless litanies of apologies, he knows what he has just as well as what he’s lost.

_And he’s thankful that he’s lost, because now he’s discovered so much more in the world._

Kyle leans down to him, and with his chest right at eye-level, it’s pretty obvious what Stan should do then.

But still, it surprises Kyle enough for him to cry out in the empty house, trespassing as it was it only adds to the pleasure as Stan sucks one of his hard nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue against the sensitive tip.

He reaches down beneath his own ass as Wendy cries through heavy sobs something about how _she just wants a second chance,_ funny enough now that he scoffs as he pulls the button of Stan’s jeans undone.

And as he rends his big cock free from his attire, he knows how fucked it is.

To listen to the heartfelt tears of his boyfriend’s ex, a message meant for one and one only, in a melancholy way only.

To subvert it completely, make a joke out of it as he pulls his panties aside to expose his already lubed, stretched pink little hole gaping just the tiniest bit.

But at the same time he knows it’s horrible, it sends a wonderful chill up his spine. Makes all the sensations of anticipation on his body even more intense, until his toes curl on the bed, until he just has to force Stan onto the covers so he can scoot further up it and away from the edge.

“Cowgirl?” Stan laughs over the music mixing with Wendy’s whimpers.

Kyle just blinks slow and purposefully at him, the false lashes doing wonders for the green of him while he poises his hips back and down.

Finds Stan’s cockhead blindly on the first try, biting his lip as he feels the warm head of it slide between his cheeks and right against the wetness of his hole.

_“I know, I know I was a-a bitch,”_ she laments, _“I know I said so many wrong things… but I really did love you, S-Stan, I really, really did–”_

Kyle leans back, pressing his chest to Stan’s as he readies himself mentally for the moment the head will press into his hole and pop right into him, fill him wonderfully–

_“But, I-I know you must miss me twice as much as I do, s-so just call me…”_

He almost laughs, but instead all that comes out is a scream of pleasure.

_“Please...”_

_“Stan!”_ Kyle yells over her, with her, both lovers past and present calling right out to Stan who’s suddenly enraptured in tight heat, unable to stop his hands from rising from his sides and pressing down on soft flesh.

Wendy keeps talking just as the music plays, but Stan doesn’t even hear it anymore.

Can only hear Kyle’s moans, his whines and cries and sobs of pleasure instead of heartbreak as he forces himself inside of his hot cunt, feeling the silk velvet of his insides that are just as soft as the draping material of the babydoll, surely.

They meet together, Kyle dropping his hips just as Stan raises his, right in the middle as they give a huff of pure relief.

_It just feels so fucking good, they both think, eyes opening just the tiniest slit through the delirium of pleasure, lust, want, and need._

_Just so right, so correct, something undeniably permanent._

_Something that was always going to happen._

_“S-so,”_ Wendy manages through heaving sobs—real or not, who knows, who cares, _“I’m sorry. I’m really, really, horribly sorry, Stan. J-just, just call me. Or text me. Message me. Anything.”_

She sniffles, her easier breaths marking the end of the message. Finally, it had been minutes long, and half was just incomprehensible. It was nice at first, at least, beautifully taboo and terrible. But now, it was getting in the way more than anything, not letting them focus entirely on the act of fucking.

_“I need you, Stan.”_

The line clicks dead, the end of the voicemail.

Kyle looks down at the other, unsure of his reaction. It had just seemed so sentimental, the perfect note to end on, he worries of the possible effects.

But Stan’s stupidly loyal, as well. So he just shakes his head, grabs Kyle by the waist and tugs him closer.

_“No, I think_ **_I_ ** _need_ **_you_ ** _more, Kyle.”_

He giggles.

“And she’ll get over it eventually, don’t worry. Probably will find someone new, gloat about it. She’s done it before.”

Kyle nods, but it turns into rolling his eyes back into his skull as Stan fucks up into him, _filling him so full it almost_ **_hurt._ **

“I’ll just delete the message… _then delete her number.”_

**_“Forget she ever existed,”_ **Stan growls.

His glossy lips drop open to let out breathy moans which Stan licks right up, twirling his tongue around the other’s as he fucks into him nice and easy, just as he has plenty of times before.

_Okay, only a handful of times before._

But somehow, with this guy, it felt like a hundred already. Like they’d always been together, always known each other’s bodies so it made knowing just the right buttons to push, spots to press, significantly easier than with any before.

Probably because they had almost always been together. Longer with each other than without, at least. Unbearably close, the bestest of friends throughout all the cliques and clubs of school and beyond.

_It only made sense, really._

Stan holds onto Kyle’s wide, skinny hips, fucking into his tight pussy slick with thin lube, reaching his end infuriatingly quickly but he just blames it on the makeup, the silk tickling his shirt and his exposed crotch in the panties.

And, most of all, the downright _infatuated,_ **_reverent_ **look that Kyle’s giving him.

It was just too damn much, seeing his best friend, his boyfriend, looking at him through lashes prickling with tears, a slight smile to his lips that were still tied to his, swirling around his tongue in desperation.

He feels his cocklet leak all over his stomach, brushing against the cotton of his shirt and leaving streaks of semen in its trail. But Stan isn’t mad, couldn’t possibly be.

He thinks it’s adorable, just as everything about Kyle ultimately is.

And as his cunt clenches around him, signalling it would only be a matter of time before Kyle would cum. The bouncing of his ass, shaking of his thick thighs and his chest heaving down on his with exertion and pure sex, it all hints toward the same exact thing.

So he can see the exact moment that Kyle orgasms, his face contorting almost in pain as he looks down at it, green eyes squinting shut as that damn throbbing cock pressing inside of him _just right_ drives him over the edge.

With each beat of their synced hearts he climaxes, ejaculates a streak of semen just as much fucked out of him by his prostate as it is shot naturally.

And that combined with the breathy pants of Kyle’s mouth on his tongue, the little squeaks and twitches of aftershock of orgasm, the pure beauty of it all, the fact that _he_ had it, that _he_ was **_all his–_ **

That’s what ultimately unwinds him, as he bottoms out inside of Kyle last one time.

And just as he has every time before, he seeds his pussy with streams of milky cum. Body tensing and untensing as he spends himself, hands wandering up Kyle’s body until it cups over his breasts through the lingerie, pulling at the transparent ends of it as he breathes.

Kyle grins down at him in afterbliss, still connected together, bound by the sperm that sticks between their bodies. Should be gross, but instead it seemed oddly romantic… at least for now, before it dried, that is.

He practically purrs, laying his head on Stan’s chest as he catches his breath.

“That was… really nice…” he smiles, the music continuing faintly in the background.

Stan chuckles. “I’ll say so. Many more to come, now!” He raises his head, moving Kyle but keeping his body mostly to the bed, still deep inside him.

“Ready to go to the park and meet all our wonderful friends one last time?”

Kyle sighs, rolling his eyes.

To move was asking a lot, what with how comfortable he was splayed over Stan’s lap like this and everything…

But, at the same time, sure, he guesses one final time couldn’t hurt.

And besides, he thinks with a little pang as he swirls his finger on Stan’s broad chest, it would be the last time in a year, probably.

An entire year…

_… Without any of his old friends._

*****

It's excellent, getting to see his old friends again, Stan thinks blissfully.

Sure, it sucked this would be the last time they were seeing them before they disappeared to the other side of the fucking country, but it was fun while it lasted.

One last get-together in the park, not just close family but the weird extended ones as well. Truly, all the once-kids of South Park who haven't gotten the fuck out to regions unknown were there in that nature reserve. Every single one of them, every single friend group, every single couple.

Hm, Stan has to wonder then. Was he included in that now? A couple?

He glances over to Kyle sitting on a park bench, arguing with Cartman over the melting snow on the grass. Something about politics, surely. Stan’s alright with missing it, honestly.

But, as well, he does miss Kyle… and the rest of his friends, of course.

_Even though_ he’d been talking with them literally only a minute ago before being taken by the arm by Craig Tucker, who then had to run off himself for his boyfriend freaking himself out staring into the depths of the woods… even though it _was_ broad daylight still.

But Tucker returns with his blonde in tow under arm, grinning at Stan so pointedly it might as well be a sneer.

“What’s up, Marsh?”

“I think I should be asking _you_ that, Craig. Not the other way around.” He waves his hand. “You know, you were the one who suddenly carted me away from a wonderful conversation with all my buddies…”

“Ah, right…” Craig rolls his eyes, stopping on the bridge over the creek just beginning to crack the paper-thin layer of ice skimming it, “a truly wonderful conversation, complete with homophobic slurs and everything. Great choice of friends, Stan, gotta give to ya.”

Stan scoffs. “Oh come on, dude, not like anyone actually means it! You’re so… weird, with your whole gay agenda and everything.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah! It’s weird, Craig! Not everyone is gay, not everyone _should_ be gay, you certainly shouldn’t force it on anyone!”

Craig sighs, leaning on the wooden railing to look at the rippling water beneath, Tweek joining him after a moment of collecting his anxious thoughts.

“Still haven’t fully got it yet, have you?” Craig then asks muffled through his glove. “That’s okay, takes a lot of people years, decades even, to really understand who they are, what that actually means.”

Stan shakes his head. _“What does that even_ **_mean?”_ ** he shouts, throwing himself onto the rail to stare at Craig’s unfazed visage. “I bet you don’t even know, the words you say are so dense! ‘Oh, who I really am, deep down inside, so special!’ You got me, Craig, I’ll admit it, I’m gay. _But only for Kyle. Bi-flexible, or whatever you wanna call it.”_

Craig blinks at him once, then shifts his gaze back down. “Exactly. Just proving my point, Stan.”

“Anyway,” Craig announces, slapping his hand down on the wood and instinctively an arm around Tweek who always jumps anyway. “Let’s talk about something else since you obviously aren’t suited for this kinda conversation.” He talks too fast for Stan to be offended, “Now you owe me twenty bucks, for real. So cough up.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, yes you do, Stan.”

“Agh, _yeah, you kinda do, man, just admit it,”_ even Tweek has to agree off to the side, holding Craig’s hand over slung around his neck for both the warmth and the sentiment.

“That’s when we come out publicly as a couple, _which_ we have **not!”** Stan yells, crossing his arms and stomping his foot like a petulant child who didn’t get to buy every toy they saw in a Toys “R” Us.

Craig chuckles. “Okay, well, you tell everyone right now or I will.”

“That isn’t fair, nor ethical!”

“Well, perhaps I’m not quite as passive as you thought I was. But I wouldn’t tell everyone you guys were in love if you weren’t, so I’ll let you say it yourself, before I embarrass you because there’s no way you’re going to deny something so obvious.”

“Ugh!” Stan groans, slapping a mitt over his face. “Why does everyone always make it out like it was _so fucking clear?_ Like they somehow always knew, like they could’ve seen it coming a fucking mile away? Huh? **_You know, some guys can just be really, really close, it doesn’t mean they’re gay!_ ** _Same with girls, see, girls can fucking hug and kiss and literally call each other ‘girlfriend’ and no one bats a fucking eye, but oh, the second a dude starts hugging his friend or hanging around him just cause he values his company more than his other pals, that makes him a homosexual? That’s just… weird!_ It’s weird and it’s wrong, man! I just don’t get why people do shit like that!”

Craig nods. “Well, sure, I see what you’re saying.” He looks Stan right in the eye. “But you don’t exactly set a good trend, do you? Or like what Tweek and I did, remember that? In elementary school when everyone thought we liked each other or some shit?”

“Yeah. And that wasn’t true!”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe I had a crush on him back then, maybe I didn’t. Maybe if no one would have made a big fuss, I wouldn’t have ever got with him…” He looks to his side, to Tweek who gazes expectantly at him. “Or maybe I would have. But I’ll never know. I just, think that people are capable of a lot more than they think they are. They just need to be more open-minded, more accepting of whatever may come and willing to adapt to that, y’know.”

Stan’s silent, just drinking all those words in which suddenly don’t seem… _quite_ as pretentious. Still a little bit, but actually comprehensive, at least.

“Anyway,” Craig huffs, taking a step back to guide Tweek to the opposite side of the park where The Boys’ group is, back to his own gang, “tell them, Stan. Show them. Or I will. Up to you.”

He waves, “See ya,” before strutting off the bridge with his boyfriend following right in line, breathy farewell thrown over his shoulder.

And God, Stan thinks, watching the two guys stroll right into the grassland, immediately taken up by the likes of Clyde and Token and their respective girlfriends.

_Craig and Tweek, they just look… so_ **_gay._ ** _So odd._

Of course, Stan himself isn’t homophobic… at least, not externally. But on the inside, he still can’t quite get over the abnormality of it. After all, he argues to no one, it _is_ abnormal. Most guys like girls, girls like guys, etc. Most people were straight, and although some may be bi, they usually sided with the opposite sex in the end. Had biological families, normal lives where they lived, they married, they had children, and then they died. Was probably made worth it at some point, of course.

But now, now that he’d decided on Kyle rather than Wendy, Stan had no hope of that. Sure, they could get something _like_ a biological family. But any way they went about it, be it a surrogate or adoption or perhaps just having cats and dogs for their kids, they would still be obviously very gay.

And he just isn’t sure how he feels about that, totally. He can tell Kyle, everyone else that it was fine. Because he knew it was fine, that there wasn’t anything inherently bad about it, per say.

But still, he just feels… strange. And he’s not sure how long it will take to honestly get over that.

**“Fuck!”** **_Stan shouts, whipping around ready to knock out his assailant who dare lay a hand on his shoulder and_ **oh, it’s just Kyle.

“Sorry!”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay, dummy. What’re you doing, just staring off into the trees? You’re weirding everyone out, dude.”

Stan frowns, shifting his eyes to their friends idling around the picnic tables, making small talk between their phones. “Oh, seriously?”

“Just a little. So, what’s wrong? I saw Craig talking to you, was he heckling you like a fucking loan shark again?”

Stan laughs. “Honestly, pretty much.”

_“Fucking dick…”_

“It’s okay! I can take it, we can. But uh, he, he said that we should really, you know, actually tell people that we’re officially together.”

Kyle scoffs, leans on the rail with his chest pushed over it. “No. That’s up to us, whenever we feel damn and well ready and comfortable. Could take weeks, could take months, but it’s our decision–”

“Right, well. Kyle,” Stan exhales shaky, “I think I’d be ready now, honestly.”

He squints at him in the cool-toned daylight, green eyes filling with suspicion, apprehension. “Really? But, are you, are you really sure? Like, **_really_ ** _sure,_ Stan?”

He gulps but nods his head. “Yes. I am. If something does happen, which I definitely don’t think anything will, but if something does, I’m okay with that. I’ve been embarrassed by breakups and makeups so many fucking times that it won’t be any worry for me, Kyle, don’t worry,” he chuckles.

Kyle takes a step closer to him, tilting his head. “No, but _seriously._ You’ll have to tell everyone we’re _actually dating,_ not just drama, not just rumours or gossip, but **_actually._ ** And everyone will make fun of us, everyone will comment and laugh and joke about it.”

“Well, Cartman already knows, so that’s the biggest issue already out of the way.”

“But does he _really?”_ Kyle asks, frowning. “It could’ve just been a teasing joke, you know. We’ve done shit like that before just to freak him out. Not like we actually made out or stared into each other’s eyes or anything really cementing like that…”

Stan brushes his hand over Kyle’s bony shoulder. “I’m sure he won’t care, I’m sure he already knows. But if you’re really worried, then yeah, we’d have to tell them, officially for them all to know. And right now, right here,” Stan says, waving his hand from one half of the park to the other, their peers all around them, ex-classmates laughing amongst themselves and between each other, right in one place, “is the perfect time to announce it.”

He then turns back to Kyle, setting two hands to either side of his collarbones. “But if you really don’t want to, Kyle, we don’t have to. We can wait. Tell them later. It’s up to you.”

Kyle pauses, just blinking as he looks him in the eyes. Thinking. Letting his gaze drop to the ground, between their shoes on the dying snow, just… _thinking. Hard._

And then Kyle steps back, leaning on the rail, an elbow to the wood through the thick cotton of his jacket, head on his hand as he looks back over his shoulder.

Kyle sighs low, rolling his eyes into the back of his head as he digs his phone out of his pocket, tapping away at it with a miserable frown to his features.

Stan grimaces, standing empty on the other side of the bridge. Never felt so cold-shouldered, even though Wendy had done it hundreds of times. Kyle himself had.

But to open himself up so much, just to be shot down, brushed away in favour of a cellphone…

_It fucking hurt._

**_“Pola-roid of~”_ **

Stan looks down at his own phone, the new ringtone–

**_“You dancing in my room~”_ **

He goes to turn the volume down, but Kyle stops him, phone still dialling Stan’s idly in hand.

He looks into Kyle’s eyes, seeing the surprising passion in them, the drive.

And then he gets it.

So he turns the volume even fucking louder.

So everyone can hear it.

**_“I want, to remember, I think it was about noon~”_ **

And everyone does, indeed, start to look over.

**_“It’s getting, harder to understand, to understand~”_ **

And Stan just holds his phone up, for all to see, all to hear.

The song, it’s alright.

_But what’s more important are the lyrics, the meaning behind them,_ **_the message._ **

**_“How you felt in my hands, in my hands~”_ **

And as everyone begins to squint at them, to comprehend the words being sung, he just slides closer to Kyle on the little bridge. Makes it obvious for whom exactly the song is for, whose ringtone it is.

**_“And I could be, a pretty girl, I’ll wear a skirt for you~”_ **

Kyle points to him on cue, red in the face with all the eyes he feels on him, the hums and tilts of their heads. The smile on Kenny’s face that he sees as he turns around, the horror on Cartman’s.

Makes it worth it.

**_“And I could be, a pretty girl, shut up when you want me to~”_ **

Stan throws an arm around Kyle just as Craig has to Tweek, sitting on a table watching it all unfold. It’s a bit dramatic, more like an interpretive dance than an actual announcement, but he’ll take it, he guesses.

**_“And I could be, a pretty girl, won’t ever make you blue~”_ **

But at least everyone seems to be getting it, with the sounds of laughter, of shouts and hurrays that yes, they were right! Groans that oh fuck, they owed a lot of people a lot of money right now!

**_“And I could be, a pretty girl, I’ll lose myself in you~”_ **

The phone call blips its timely death, ending the song but being replaced by rancorous laughter, cries of elation and aggravation both.

It’s the best sound in the world, to the new couple standing amidst it all.

But Craig squints at Stan from the land, seemingly unimpressed with the fact some people might wheedle their ways out of this one.

Recalls how Kyle said the whole song and dance of a few days before wasn’t enough, either.

So he opens his mouth wide, shouting over everyone:

**“I’m dating Kyle Broflovski! My childhood best friend, and now,** **_boyfriend!”_ **

He’s so fucking embarrassed as he says it, but just manages to grit it out before he hides his shameful face against Kyle’s, a quick kiss straight to the lips.

Kyle parts his mouth as soon as he returns to yet more cheers, hollers and clapping from their friends behind them.

**“And I’m in love with Stan Marsh!** **_I always have been!”_ **

And he doesn’t even mean to, but somehow he comes crashing down against Stan’s mouth anyway, caught up in a kiss that lasts a little longer than comfortable for the onlookers who all spot Craig with smiles turning to pouts, pulling out their wallets.

**_“Okay, okay!”_ **a brash voice that could only ever belong to Cartman shouts from over the stream, “Please, just give me a fucking break! I’m one-hundred out already!”

“One-hundred?!” Kenny frowns. “The bet’s twenty–”

“I may have doubled down! And then tripled that! Quadrupled, whatever comes after that!”

“Q-q-quintupled–”

_“Yeah, yeah, ‘genius’,”_ Cartman spits with heavy air quotes, leaping up into the air to pull out his mom’s clutch from his bag.

And they begin to cross the bridge to get to the other side, a heavy crowd around a certain noirette who happily collects his investments.

And he might be even more broke than he was yesterday, but Stan can’t help but smile blissfully amongst all the chattering.

The wind blowing in his hair, a sweet smell in the air, mostly from the ginger standing next to him who grins just as easily.

Because, most importantly, he had Kyle now, and it was fucking _official as anything._

And that was worth more in the world.

_As fucking cheesy as that is._

*****

The sun finally dead in the water, they’re all full of cheap pizza and take out and whatever else Craig decided to buy, all on him. Was still a net gain, by fucking far. And as he peers over to two blondes, one with literal tears in his eyes, he thinks he knows just who to set up bets for come next break.

But that would have to wait, because now, right now, everyone was saying goodbye.

Some of them off to different towns, dorms and apartments not too far away. Some, of course, would stay right there, attending community college, working their jobs, _wasting their lives away sitting in their mom’s basement._

Some are further, to different cities in the state, neighbouring states to Colorado.

Few to completely different regions.

And the more distance, of course, the less chance of returning to their homes, to their hometown to see their friends and family once again.

And that killed most of all, that homesickness that just never went away. That loneliness, that longing, just to see one’s best friends once again.

So, sure, some of them do cry. Some of it isn’t very deserved, just a few miles away but it’s an emotional scene so they guess it can be excused.

But no, Kyle has a real reason to fucking bawl his eyes out.

Yet he looks brave enough, hugging his friends tight, even looking down to Cartman before glancing away, one quick squeeze and then he shakes himself off and away. Sure, he must admit he does miss the fatass and his quick-wit and horrid humour and shit but… not in the moment, that’s for damn sure.

But Kenny, Butters, yeah, he’ll definitely fucking miss them. Gives them at least a few goodbyes, stubborn conversation keeping them under the flickering street lights long after they’ve said their initial farewells.

And when he sees Craig passing by, he just has to at least give him a punch to the shoulder, a word of thanks. Stan does the same, although he’s not entirely sure why they’re thanking him… probably had something to do with something, though. He was nice enough, _even if he did make good money off of him._

Bebe, Nicole, Clyde, Token, Craig, Tweek, other kids they hardly remembered the names of but waved to anyway, they all slip off into the night with their cars to who knows where. Well, they do know where for each individually of course, that’s part of saying goodbye on a night like this, the endless conversations that stretch the minutes into hours, but either way. They’ll miss them, in an odd way.

Leaving just the main five. Hugging and handshakes, both memorized and not, they all wave each other off one last hesitant time.

At least those three will still be here, more or less. Be able to see each other every day.

The heartbreak is mostly for Stan and Kyle. Leaving to opposite sides of the country. Butters innocently asks how they’ll handle that, and Kyle answers easily enough that they’ll manage, video chat, whatever.

But Stan saw the choke a second before, the look of straight-up fear, sadness, depression in his eyes.

_Just unbearable._

But they all have to leave, eventually. Off into their cars, walking through the boroughs to their little houses to pass the night. Separating until they’re all alone but for their families, left with the bittersweet feeling of farewell.

It had been a good winter break, that was for sure.

Kenny gives Kyle a thumbs-up for a years’ long mission accomplished.

_Well done._

And once the other three were gone with not a tear between them, Stan told Kyle it was okay. Okay to cry. He knew he wanted to.

Kyle shook his head. No, he’d be alright. He could handle this. It was fine. He would be fine.

Stan doubted that.

So much so that he said it aloud.

But Kyle frowned, gaze downcast as he repeated himself. He’d be alright. And if he wasn’t, he would get over it sooner or later. It was only a year… _And then another year after that… and another…_

But he would make it!

He would live!

So don’t worry!

And so Stan tries so, _so_ hard not to.

_But he just does anyway._

And Stan might as well have clairvoyance, because he can see so clearly the image of Kyle sobbing silently into his pillow, crying himself to sleep.

And he’s right, for the most part.

Other than for the fact that Kyle’s doing it pretty damn loudly, enough that his little brother wakes up and has to console him.

_His little brother._

_It’s so embarrassing it just makes him cry even harder._

But at least that spark of humour lightens him up a little, lets him wave him away with shaky breaths, telling him just like everyone else that it will be alright.

But even as Ike looks at him, such an understanding between them that neither of them would ever fully understand, Kyle feels a familiar pang in his heart.

Deep within it, just as Stan does a few streets away.

Knowing the distance that would soon be between them, rending them apart. Not being physically there. Not being able to actually be there. Not just in spirit, not in voice, not in pixels, but in touch, skin to skin, body to body.

It wasn’t even necessarily the sex, although they would surely miss that.

It was just the overall, the fact that they wouldn’t be there for each other in the flesh. Wouldn’t know exactly what was going on, be able to feel it out themselves, physically be present hour to hour, minute to minute.

And as they lay alone in their separate rooms, waiting for sleep to take them, it hits them hardest then.

They’ll see each other next morning, but after that are the planes. The necessary transportation that would take them thousands of miles away from each other.

_Thousands of miles._

He isn’t even alone yet, but Kyle feels lonelier than he ever has in his entire life.

*****

_January 15th, 2020 - Wednesday_

Kyle shifts uncomfortably in his seat, huffing as he looks between his laptop clock and his wristwatch clock.

Just so fucking restless, it was infuriating in and of itself.

He sighs, breathing deep in and out, in and out, just like all the videos say, but the fucking screaming kid next to him is not fucking helping.

_Like holy shit, he’s gonna have to sit next to that thing. Holy fuck._

He closes his eyes along with the lid, hand between his fingers as he tries to concentrate.

Don’t think about what you’re doing, about where you’re going. About what’s happening, what you’re leaving behind.

Especially not about him.

No, don’t think. Don’t think about Stan–

Fuck, he fucking ruined it!

He frowns, rubs his eyes to try to ward off the tears that threaten to spill so close to the actual flight, the boarding, because no, he doesn’t want to cry in a fucking airport! _How fucking pathetic!_

But his legs shake beneath him in the stupid plastic chair, knees wobbling together just as his mouth pouts. He shakes his head, curls brushing on his flushed cheeks. So fucking stupid… crying over something as dumb as this… at least he had him, finally found someone who loved him as much as he fucking did.

But he just can’t help it, as he leans back and his damn heart pangs once more. Every pulse, a new wave of sadness, of loneliness. Terrifying loneliness, hitting him fresh with every beat.

He just wants to go back, to run home and say fuck it to Yale, to New Haven.

But he can’t.

Because what the fuck is he going to run back to? His fucking house? They’d be like, _what the fuck are you doing here, Kyle? Go get on the fucking plane before they charge you again!_

_You can’t just quit college because you want to be with your stupid fucking boyfriend, dumbass! Now go be a good boy before we strap you to the car and drive there ourselves!_

No, he can’t fucking do that.

So instead, he hunches forward, rubs his temples both to forget the yelling children, the cackling all around him that beats into his brain. All these sounds of happiness and he’s on the verge of a fucking mental breakdown. Jesus Christ.

And instead of being nice to him, of course his brain is a fucking asshole first chance it gets. So it flashes memories of that wonderful winter break, from the initial airport meeting of seeing Stan drunk as fuck which was now fucking hilarious to him, to going to the arcade, to Hanukkah with way too much homoerotic undertones, to the Christmas party which was… unforgettable, to say the very least, to the sleepover and the handjob, New Year’s and the sex, more sex in the Testaburger’s, more at Kyle’s house and even more then at Stan’s in the shower.

God, it was fucking hot… but also so fucking awful.

Because he’s not going to get to do fucking any of that anymore.

Maybe he can do some sexting shit, some mutual masturbation on cam… but it’s nothing like real life, like just being able to get him off, to feel his hard cock, take him in his mouth.

God, fuck, he still has so much he wants to do… so many pretty things to wear, to show off, to have him touch, feel, tug on, just fuck, fuck fuck–

_… And now he won’t be able to do any of that._

_For almost a fucking year._

_Because even if he convinces himself it’s fine to return for summer break, it’s only a break. Then it’s right back to the same shit._

_He wants Stan every day, like they’re married, yeah. That’s what he really,_ **_truly_ ** _wants at the end of the day._

_But he’ll never fucking get that._

_Because that’s just_ **_insane. Fucking laughable._ **

“Kyle.”

“Will you marry me?”

Kyle whips around at the sound of that all-too-familiar voice, eyes so wide and mind so fried he can’t even take in the image before him for entire fucking seconds.

But slowly, stitch by stitch, it starts making sense.

Black hair, round face, scarf around his neck, a red coat, dark jeans.

A little white box with a gold band in it, shining in the weak light of the sunrise.

**“Stan!”** Kyle shouts, hearing gasps from all around, even the crying kids stopping to wonder.

**_“Oh my God!”_ ** Kyle can’t help but practically _squeal,_ lunging forward over the armrest to pull him into a bear hug that _definitely_ pops a few bones.

“Well?” Stan can barely squeak in his tight grasp, but hugging back nearly just as tight.

“Huh?” Kyle hums, too drunk on joy to fully understand.

And then everything rushes into his head.

Marriage, ring, Stan, here, and most importantly:

**_Fucking how?_ **

**_Like, seriously,_ ** **fucking how?**

**_“Stan!”_ **is all Kyle can shout again, as he rips away, hands tight on his arms while everyone looks on, utterly confused. Maybe even more so than when Stan had been writhing on the ground drunk in the same airport just a month ago, and that was fucking saying something.

And then he says, **_“W-w-wh-what are you doing_ ** **here?!”**

Stan laughs in his hold, dropping the ring on his lap to cup Kyle’s adorable, freckled face. “I just had to come see you.”

“You have a flight!”

“Hahah, no I don’t!”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about, _Stan?!”_

Stan smiles. “Okay, I do. But it’s to New Haven, same plane as you.”

“H-huh– when–”

“Oh, just last night.”

“That’s fucking impossible!”

Stan puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t swear in front of children, Kyle!” he tuts. “Anyway, I happen to know someone who knows a lot of people! Her name’s Cheryl,” he waggles his brow, “remember her?”

_“That old lady who shared her booze with you?”_

“Yeah! ‘Thanks Cheryl’!” he laughs.

Kyle shakes his head. “Okay, sure, that’s fu– er, _incredibly_ stupid and crazy, but whatever. But why are you _here,_ Stan? Why are you coming to New Haven and not to California– _You’re not going to California, are you?”_

“Because,” Stan sighs, “I realized what would really make me happy. And an associate’s degree in freaking San Francisco is not it. I was failing basically all my classes anyway, know that?” he snickers. “So don’t worry. I just wanna be with you, Kyle. I can work, or take classes at some other college, whatever. Just so long as I don’t have to miss you anymore.”

“Stan…” Kyle breathes, his eyes filled with pure love.

And then it’s suddenly extinguished, as he hits him on the skull with a closed fist. Light of course, but it’s still startling. _“You_ ** _idiot!_** Why do you never have a conversation with me about things as important as this?! Do your parents know?!”

“Sure, my family already knows I’m a failure, don’t worry! But they like you, Kyle, always have, so I’m sure they think that wherever you go, if I follow, all the better! And… I just wanted it to be a surprise, honestly.”

Kyle shakes his head.

**_Such a fucking stupid moron._ **

But God, he loves him for that.

“And that?” Kyle points.

Stan looks down at the ring.

“O-oh, I uh,” he holds it up, “I got it for Wendy, actually, back in California… was supposed to be for an engagement thing, was actually gonna do it over winter break, but y’know… plans change!”

Kyle doesn’t know whether to feel slighted or just downright angry.

He settles for mildly annoyed, because really, what do you expect with this guy?

“You’re dumb, Stan,” Kyle huffs. “But that’s okay. I like dumb.”

“You really like dumb?”

“Oh yeah,” he giggles, “I really like dumb.”

**_Kenny was right all along._ **

_“Boarding first class,”_ the woman at the desk says muffled over the intercom.

People begin to move, forming a long line in front of the door to the hall over the plane.

They look up, then between each other.

_Thank fucking God,_ they both think with a smile, as they rise out of their seats and pick up their duffel bags.

_To be out of South Park, into their own apartment where they now can do whatever they want, whenever they want, all alone, uninterrupted…_

_Holy shit, this was going to be heaven._

“I want to marry you, Stan.”

He just blinks.

“Stan. I’m gonna marry you one day, okay? We’re gonna go to New Haven, date for a good while, but eventually, we’re gonna get married.”

He just blinks again.

The world around him seems vibrant, vivid, people moving around them in disappointment at the lack of a proper marriage proposal.

His heart pounds in his ribs, and he can barely stand to watch his lips move, _feeling like a_ **_dream._ **

**_A beautiful one._ **

He laughs, holding his carry-on in one hand, Kyle’s slender fingers in the other as they stride forward towards the line.

He leans in with a grin toward his boyfriend just as happy about their future, about the present moment, overcome with such joy it’s completely indescribable.

He whispers close:

_“Not if I marry you first, Kyle.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
> 
> _
>   * _[NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWireNSFW)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire)  
>  _
> 
>   * _[SFW Tumblr](https://devilofwire.tumblr.com/)  
>  _
> 
> _ 

> 
> __
> 
> * * *
> 
> The end! 
> 
> Or is it? Lol, probably. But! I might be up for writing more South Park in the future! ;] 
> 
> I also have a cover in the works for this fic (which was supposed to be done weeks ago… but y’know, time crunch), so look out for that probably over the weekend on the 1st chapter and/or I’ll probably post it on my neglected SFW Twitter/Tumblr I think! 
> 
> Otherwise, thank you very much for reading all these silly words! I hope it was enjoyable! <3
> 
> **UPDATE 1-26-20:** And with the cover art done, I believe I am all finished with this particular longfic! I've adored all the lovely comments I've received, so thank you _**very** _ much for that!! Although I may be done with this work, I am sure I will continue to make South Park fics/fanart in the future, because the characters are just so _keyuute!_ Lmao, until next time~ <3!


End file.
